#little bits of serial joy

[my-mischief-managed]

You know, I've heard of you.

You're one of those constitutional sheriffs.

Yes, I am. Defender of freedom and protector of the common man against the tyranny of the state and all its wicked demands.

Taxes?

Oh, yeah.

The social safety net?

Well, I'd spit, but, uh...

Respect for the otherly-abled?

The whole multi-cultural panoply. Billy has two mothers, et cetera, et cetera.

So-so, you-you want freedom with no responsibility? Son, there's only one person on Earth who gets that deal.

A baby. You're fighting for your right to be a baby.

...

So, that's who you are.

That's who I am.

[nolovelingers]

ETHAN LANDRY AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

headcanons — // cw ! : dark themes ,, obsession ,, nsfw !! just a reminder that this man is in fact a killer, it’s not gonna be all lovey lovey goody goody 24/7. !!

——————————————————————————

SFW !!

ETHAN LANDRY AS YOUR BOYFRIEND . . . would be an experience like no other. you’ve never met anyone quite like him, and though he can be one of the sweetest and most thoughtful boys you’ve ever met, he often has mood swings that can scare you heavily.

easy to anger, if you say one bad joke about him, do something he doesn’t approve of or if he catches you suddenly growing distant, he throws tantrums, yelling, punching things and performing the best crocodile tears you might’ve ever seen.

he’s never had a girlfriend before, and before you he’s never even held hands with a girl; so he doesn’t know quite exactly how to love properly, and it doesn’t help that he’s quite a twisted person all together since hes, well, a serial killer.

there is no inbetween with ethan. he will hate you, or he will love you obsessively. there is no “talking stage” or “getting to know each other” with ethan. he will jump straight to the point.

if he feels you slowly cutting ties with him or that you may try to leave him; he takes extreme measures. threatening to hurt himself, your family/friends, and if it gets drastic maybe even yourself. though he has absolutely no initial intention to harm you, if he feels he must just to get you to stay with him, he will do what needs to be done. nothing too bad of course, maybe just a few cuts.

however, if you’re good to him and give him nothing but your love and affection, the both of you will practically be on cloud nine the entire relationship.

he’s always wanted a girlfriend and you’ve made his wishes come true, he can never repay you for enough.

he gets jealous quite easily, and though he does a good enough job at hiding it in the moment, he’ll get quite confrontational when it’s just the two of you.

he’ll help you study, carrying all of your books for you, your bags, your backpack, keep your phone in his pocket when you have none, anything you need help with hes there to assist.

he can still get a bit shy around you even several months into the relationship, sometimes the feeling of love and joy he gets around you too much for him to wrap his mind around.

to be frank, he sucks at flirting. when he’s not hiding behind his fake personality; a shy schoolboy, he’s typically very blunt about things, straight to the point, or he’ll avoid it all together simply because he’s never had the practice of flirting. you’d need to give him a few tips.

he’s very dorky, actually. big into all sorts of movies, comics and shows. especially horror movies, not to be cheesy but they are just something he adores.

if you’re sensitive to horror movies, it’s even better. he loves when you jump, seeing your scared face as you clutch onto him for support, or hide your face under the blanket which never fails to make him smile.

however if it’s the total opposite, and horror does nothing to you, he’ll have no problem in taking on the roll of being scared just to get closer to you and have you soothe and cradle him in your arms, hiding his face in your neck and whining about the scary jump scares or the blood being too much.

your first kiss was honestly pretty bad. he had no idea what he was doing and he kissed you like how your mom would kiss your forehead after wishing you a good day at school. it was terrible, he didn’t go for your top or bottom lip, he literally touched his lips to yours and puckered up for a few seconds.

after practicing for a little bit though, he gets the hang of it and become a decently good kisser.

going into the relationship anytime you kiss it was a little awkward, he wouldn’t touch your body or your face, just lean his head in and expecting you to do the rest. as he gets more comfortable though he eventually becomes the type to rest one hand on your cheek and the other loosely behind your back.

he loves hickeys. he likes to give them, of course he does, marking you is one of the best experiences ever in his mind, but he has such a weak spot when he’s on the receiving end. begging you for more, chest rising and falling as you suck at his most sensitive spots, small groans of arousal falling out from his plumped lips, sore from the make out session you two had just shared while his mouth hangs slightly open and brows furrowed closely together in ecstasy.

if you try to cover the hickeys he gives you, he gets a bit offended. even if it was for school or because you had to see your parents, he would never dream of hiding the dark patches you gave him, from anyone, proud to show off the fact that you loved him; and he sees no reason why you would wish to conceal them. if he notices blobs of makeup trying to wash away the love marks depending on the mood he was in he’d either a) roughly rub the concealer off with his fingers, asking you why you’re so ashamed to be with him and guilt you to death, or b) purely suffer in silence, pouting at the sight and giving you the cold shoulder. not that it would last long anyway, he hates when you don’t talk.

ethan would kill for you. he really would. whether it be some poor old woman who knocked her cart into yours by accident at the grocery or some built guy who tried flirting with you on campus; it wouldn’t be even two days before the news reports them as deceased, brutally butchered with a knife.

he loves to take notes for you, dumbing them down better than how the teacher explained so it wouldn’t be so difficult for you to understand, taking a yellow highlighter and going over the key points of the lesson and marking a few (poorly drawn) doodles.

you lost your notes? don’t worry, take his entire notebook! oh, you only needed yesterdays history notes? well, now you have his entire notebook in your possession. it’s no big deal, he’ll just make more.

joining him in econ dates from time to time are a must. he loves study dates, and anytime you attempt to have one at his or your dorm it just ends in notebooks tossed aside and his lips on yours, so your safest bet to actually get work done is to just join him in econ. holding hands under the table and watching him do his work with a concentrated face.

he’s not the richest guy around, but if you want something he’s either going to buy it assuming he can afford it, or just kill and mug some person on the street for the money. trust me, he’s tried to steal before and it didn’t go so well. theft is not something he’s good at getting away with, so he’ll just stick to murder for the time being. he’s not good at being discreet or locating the cameras.

ethans smart, he genuinely is. he’s at the top of almost all of his classes and teachers favor him, which means they favor you. he was a genius before, however ever since he got with you he’s done nothing but excel even further.

he’s so proud to have you as his partner, you’re genuinely the thing he’s most proud of. the best part of him is you. his notes app is filled to the brim about everything there is to know about you, what you like, your past hyperfixations, important information, stuff you’ve mentioned you wanted.

you are both his home and lockscreen and everytime he sees your face pop up on his phone his heart flutters a bit.

you’re pinned to the top of his messages and the only person he has notifications on for. everyone else is on silenced, and he only has a total of 4 other contacts saved that aren’t you. his dad, his sister, chad and tara. he didn’t even bother for mindy, anika or sam; and besides them he knows no one else.

he’d drop anything for you in seconds, no matter how important it was. all you have to do is ask, and god forbid if you beg him. he’d drop to his knees right there. even if he was in the middle of an important family meeting about how to continue executing the ghostface plan, if you beg him to cancel (not knowing what exactly it was he had to do anyway) or even gloss your eyes slightly to give him the illusion of tears he’s all yours for the rest of the day.

he’s extremely touch deprived and is awkward when initiating it unless it’s something like slinging his arm over your shoulder, which he never once had a problem with. you’re usually always the first to initiate hand holding and cuddles, which he’s so grateful for. he doesn’t know how to go about asking.

when you do hold hands though, he’ll literally never let you go. even if you have to leave, do something with two hands or just try to remove your hand from his; he’ll tighten his grip (not so rough that it hurts) to stop you from doing do without even noticing, so you basically have to ask him to stop holding your hand which is far more embarrassing than just letting go, but he really doesn’t even notice when he does this.

he loves the way you smell, and there has definitely been a number of times where you catch him sniffing your hair on the perfume/cologne on your neck, potentially even asking you for the name of it so he can go out and get his own to spray on his pillows and a few of his shirts.

this also applies with your shampoo and conditioner. he doesn’t primarily use the ones that you do, but he’s got the exact type stored under a cabinet so that when he’s particularly missing you he’ll use them in his locks instead of his usual kind.

sharing headphones and having a joint playlist is a must with him. you two have a collaborative playlist that you both add songs to and listen to when you’re together that ethan has just started listening to constantly now.

he doesn’t have much social media. he doesn’t have snapchat. he does have an instagram that you forced him to download just so you could send him reels but he never posts on it. he has tiktok, but he’s literally just not logged in so he doesn’t have an actual account. he does have twitch though which is what he uses the most.

he’d never let anyone hurt you, and if they do he doesn’t just get angry, he becomes furious, their death much more brutal than any past ones. their was a time where he took a stab to the shoulder after quinn charged at you with a knife as ghostface, even after ethan specifically told her not to lay a finger on you. she hadn’t planned on killing you but she wanted to get a couple hits in, which ethan was extremely against. their father later lectured the both of them about the situation.

he specifically made sure you were at the hospital with mindy when the reveal went down.

NSFW !!

he really wasn’t lying about being a virgin, he had no idea how the body worked and he was always way too nervous to initiate anything sexual between the two of you.

you had definitely turned him on before, his dick growing hard at the sight or thought of you; and he always wondered what it would feel like to be buried deep inside you. or to have your pretty mouth wrapped around his shaft, gagging from his length and the vibrations of your moans sending shivers down his spine.

but no words could ever do justice to how it felt the first time you slept together.

he didn’t finish as fast as you assumed he would and actually did a decent job at holding out, but he definitely didn’t break any records or anything.

he’s 100% a switch, quick to go from whining and crying out for your touch to holding you down beneath him, hand pushing your jaw upwards and fingers carefully wrapped around you neck as he takes everything he wants and more; those are on his most aggressive days.

he loves receiving head more than he likes to give, but if you ask him he’s definitely eager to please you. he’s just nervous he’s not doing well, and to be quite honest he’s not the greatest at picking up your body language at what you’re enjoying and what you’re not unless you really make it noticeable.

one of his favorite things is the sounds you make. he absolutely hates it when you try to silence or muffle your noises, making sure to go harder or rougher so that you’re not able to even try.

he buries his head in your neck as he’s rutting into you, watching the way your body bounces around his dick and unable to stop his own sounds from falling out as his mind goes blank in ecstasy.

he’s more of a whiny and grunty type than a whimper guy, but there are definitely moments when a string of curses mixed with desperate whimpers fall from his lips.

when he’s feeling more violent and powerful, he’ll definitely take it out on you in the bedroom, pounding into you ruthlessly and breath shaking as a bead of sweat forms on his forehead, the only thing able to clear his mind is being deep inside of you.

started 08.05.23. finished 08.05.23.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ a/n : idk how I feel ab this one it’s kinda low tier effort but wanted to get smth out today🙏 make sure to leave notes, reblogs and comment!!

©️nolovelingers 2023

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Neil Gaiman and Roz Kaveney at the British Library event Why We Need Fantasy 20.11.2023 :) ❤

Neil: Good omens Season One was, for me, an exercise in adaptation. I'd taken something, and I wanted to turn it into something else. Good Omens Season Two, on the other hand, was just an absolute joy, because now I knew I have Jon Hamm, and I can get him to do this stuff, and he's going to be walking naked through Soho at the beginning, and everybody is going to think they're going to hate him, and instead, he's going to be this marvelous, goofy figure that they will all love but kind of hate themselves for loving, but not know if he's a bad guy, but they'll love him anyway. And over here, I will have my Crowley, and I know that I can get David Tennant to do anything now, there is nothing that he will not go for. And so I can ask him to do things that are even more ridiculous. And then over here, I've got Michael Sheen, and everybody in the whole world just wants to..., you know, it is now forgotten by humanity that once upon a time, Michael Sheen was thought of as that actor who plays the really creepy people.

Roz: Yeah. I saw him in Kingdom of Heaven the other night and thought, oh, that was Michael Sheen.

Neil: That was Michael Sheen.

Roz: The evil priest that gets killed.

Neil: He used to play... I mean, he used to play creepy people, and everybody knew that if you want a good, slimy serial killer person, you go for Michael Sheen. Currently - I got a phone call from him the other day - a little Marco Polo video message from him with the strangest haircut I've seen, and I get strange messed... you know, hair, but this one, and he's playing Prince Andrew, so he's absolutely capable of still bringing in the creep. But, you know, Michael having just become this cuddly, cinnamon roll creature of pure love and joy and knowing that everybody was just going to want to cuddle him for six episodes until I let him break their hearts. I'm sorry. Perhaps he will-

Audience member: No, you're not.

Neil: Not even the tiniest bit. There is no sorrow in that.

Roz: I was in hospital when I saw Good Omens Two and the moment I finished watching it, I texted you and said, 'You magnificent bastard.'

Watch the whole event here :).

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 1 (Alastor x Reader)

Rated Adult for adult themes, triggering content and sexual content. I wouldn't say this is dead dove but it's dead dove adjacent. Series Trigger Warnings: Adultery, stalking, Sexual assault, Rape, smut of undetermined sorts, Domestic Violence, Time period accurate views on women and domestic violence and skin color, Alastor is a serial Killer, there's murder, there's angst, there's dark content.

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you?

And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

Please be mindful. This story is dark and triggering at times. I've written portions to elicit an emotional reaction. As you should always do with dark content, even if you're not at risk of being triggered, please step back and take a breather when needed. The story will always be here when you get back. I am so tickled by the excitement this story has generated ahead of its release. We're looking at tentatively between 20 and 30 chapters (A note from future Kit: Ha! That was a cute prediction... I'm drafting chapter 37 rn and looking at 50...(Another note for future-er Kit...we're writing chapter 51 rn... we're not passing 60) posted once a week on Fridays.

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Audio by Nyx Productions, Part 1, part 2

To the world, you appeared nothing more than a simple woman with a placid smile, gliding through town. The rhythmic click of your sensible black heels echoed against the sidewalk. To a trained eye, your gait could be categorized as slightly staggered, stiff, and just a little uneven, but to an untrained eye? There was nothing to see, but a modestly dressed woman, impeccably put together though just slightly out of fashion, performing the role of the ideal well-to-do wife with the precision of a clockwork automation. 

You could have taken a bus, but you would rather walk, or at least that was your story, but it wasn’t totally true. You tried to focus on the positive, a lesson your parents had instilled in you from an early age. If you couldn’t focus on the positive little bits of your life, what else was there?

It was nice to get out of the prison of your home. That is what you’d tell anyone that asked, though you wouldn’t call it a prison to anyone but yourself. They would smile and nod, like was polite and they’d make small talk about how mundane the life of a homemaker was and assure her that as soon as little ones landed her days would be filled with excitement and joy. 

What wouldn’t be said was how you wished she could brave the bus because your simple heels hurt your feet or how the idea of falling pregnant terrified you. You couldn’t, wouldn’t really, brave the bus because it would jostle you and you’d surely bump into someone or something. This time of day, the bus would be crowded and people would bump into you.

Today you couldn’t have that. 

Today you needed to protect yourself.

Stepping into the tailor shop you thanked the man on his way out, holding the door open for you on his way. With a sigh, you let the relief of an errand half done wash over you as you stepped up to the counter. Behind you, the bell above to door jingled, announcing another new arrival to the small shop.

Glancing over your shoulder, you hardly registered the tall man with tan skin and fluffy brown hair as he held the door open for his short blonde companion. An odd pair, you thought before turning back to the counter, showing the woman where the sleeve on your dress was torn, seam along the shoulder ripped and explaining your fabricated story of how it happened. 

She smiled at you with pity. This was injury to clothing she knew well though she would never be so bold as to talk about it. You were not the only woman in town to frequent the tailors with ripped shoulder seams or dark rust colored stains. These were the secrets she kept, a professional curtesy that was expected from her but always unsaid. Did the people of the city even realize the things she knew?

“It’ll be ready in a few days, Mrs. Latimer.” The shopkeeper was quick to take the dress from you, doing the work of holding it up and examining the rip. 

It was a small mercy, to not have to raise your arm much at all. The woman folded the dress neatly away and slipping it below the counter before motioning you aside while she wrote out your ticket. She was a master at multitasking, finishing your ticket as she greeted the newcomers who seemed less eager to step up to the counter than the shopkeeper was to serve them.

“What about that one?” the blonde woman whispered to her companion as you thanked the shop keeper as she handed you your ticket. The newcomers lingered, taking their time making their way to the counter. 

“Mimzy, we are here to pick up your dress,” the man’s rich voice sounded familiar but you couldn’t place it. Glancing at him, you tried to place where you could know him from but came up blank. That was just as well, Laurence didn’t let you really socialize much outside of your day to day tasks.

The blonde, Mimzy you had gathered her name was, wiggled her fingers to you in a wave as she caught you looking their way before directing her attention back to the man she was with. 

“Yes, yes. And you need the lining of your coat restitched,” She made a show of rolling her eyes, performing for an audience of only a handful, “You’re no fun sometimes.” 

“A dreadfully dull time, that’s me,” the man laughed lightly.

“I’m just saying,” Mimzy continued as you stepped toward the door, “You’re a good man. A decent man. You should find someone, is all. You don’t gotta settle down but you don’t gotta be alone all the time either.” 

You cringed, struggling to push open the heavy door, trying to not listen in on the pair’s clearly private conversation. You had been too eager when you pushed on it and your shoulder didn’t hold up to the stress well, pain flaring. It was easy enough to forget how painful your shoulder was in the moment. 

It wasn’t so bad, as long as you didn’t overdo it. Pushing open the heavy door yourself was clearly enough to count as overdoing it today. 

“Here, allow me.” The man pushed open the door for you, holding it open with a palm high along the edge of the door, giving you plenty of space to exit. 

You ducked under his arm with a mumbled word of thanks. It didn’t matter, he didn’t seem to really be listening for it anyway as he directed his attention back to his companion as he let the door begin to fall closed as soon as you were out of striking range of it.

“And why should I-” the rest of his words were lost behind the closing door. 

Alastor sat in the empty lounge, sipping his rye as Mimzy talked on and on while she changed. The dress surely would fit her just how she wanted, it was custom fitted but that didn’t stop her from putting on this whole production every time they got back from the seamstress. 

He knew the song and dance well enough, having known the woman for the past few years. She would change. He would complement. She would complain. He would reassure. She would blush and call him a flirt. He would move on with his day. 

“Oh!” Mimzy interrupted herself, earning a raised eyebrow from Alastor. “I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what, my dear?” 

She popped her head out from between the curtains, “I think I found myself a new juice supplier. You’re off the hook.”

“You think?” Alastor downed the rest of his drink in one smoothe gulp.

“Ya- Laurence’ll be able to take over soon and you’ll be off the hook again. I know you ain’t eager for that amount of risk. Told you it was only temporary.” 

Alastor hummed in acknowledgement as Mimzy went on and on about Laurence. He was tall, not as tall as Alastor, she assured him, but still tall and handsome. He tuned out her ramblings, mind instead turning back to the woman Mimzy had pointed out at the tailor shop. Such a timid little thing, fashion just outdated enough to stand out. 

Mimzy smacked his shoulder with a bar towel, leaning across the counter to look him in his eyes as she demanded his attention, “Yes?”

“You’re distracted,” she stated simply. 

“Just thinking about tomorrow’s broadcast.” Alastor answered simply, running his finger over the rim of the empty glass. “That’s all.” 

“Mhm,” she narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned back from her. “You sure you ain’t thinking about a pretty face?” 

“Haven’t seen any prettier faces than yours today.” 

Mimzy laughed loudly and teased, “Flirt! But I know it ain’t my face that’s got you distracted. Was it the doll at the shop? She was cute!” 

“She’s got a man,” Alastor countered. 

“And how the hell would you know from not speaking to her at all?” 

Alastor shrugged, “Just got a feeling about her.” 

He could tell Mimzy that she had that hollow look in her eyes that a woman got when she had a partner that got a bit too rough with her. Hell, he could point out the way she couldn’t manage to open the door to the shop, her shoulder weak from strained muscles. Did the man that called her his toss her around by the arm last night? Yank her a little too roughly?

He wouldn’t though because it didn’t matter. It wasn’t worth having Mimzy ask questions about his past or worse, assume the reason he had no partner of his own was due to any reason beyond him not desiring to be weighed down. 

“I bet a charming lad like yourself could sweep her out from under whatever man she’s caught up with anyway. Want another?” Mimzy pointed at the empty glass as melting ice settled in the bottom. 

“I’m good, Darling- It’s early yet.” 

Your feet were killing you as you made your way home. Still, you couldn’t help but take your time. If you were out, you were not home cleaning, cooking or waiting for your husband to return. While you were out, you could pretend to be your own person and it was alright, you had to keep up appearances as long as it was the right appearance. 

Lingering in front of the newsstand, you let your eyes run over the papers and magazines each with bold words on the covers, fighting for the eye’s attention. 

The headlines were polar opposites in many cases. Some celebrated the progress and change made in the 24 months since women had been granted the right to the vote. Others bemoaned the change and the influence women could now have on the world around them, pointing at any little thing as a sign of the doom this would spell for society as a whole. 

The idea made you laugh. Two years and while you did your best to learn, you hadn’t even come close to a polling center. Your husband wouldn’t allow it. Whatever change there may have been for better or for worse, you had no part of it. 

You knew which of the papers your loving husband would pick up and celebrate. It wasn’t the same ones you would but that didn’t matter. Women may have had the right to vote but you knew you were little more than an accessory in the world you lived in. 

Moving on with your walk home, you tried to force yourself to relax your shoulders and back. The pain was starting in from tensed muscles, telling you that while you hadn’t been watching your posture well enough, you had curled in on yourself. 

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your parted lips, slowly as you pulled your head up and your shoulders back, trying to ignore the way the muscles screamed in protest. You forced your spine straight and winced at the pain in your shoulder as you worked your fingers into the tense muscle, trying to convince it to relax. 

It would pain you for a few more days yet and if you were lucky, that would be it. You just needed to be good until it had a chance to heal. 

“Good Day, Mrs. Latimer.” A man you should have known tipped his hat at you in greeting, startling you out of the thoughts you hadn’t realized absorbed you as you walked slowly down the sidewalk. 

He was closer than you had expected when he snatched your attention, causing you to gasp and flinch back, shoulder twinging in pain. You didn’t like people in your space, at least not without warning. All it would take was someone saying you were getting too close to a man to your husband and hell would rain down on you regardless of the truth of it. 

Your shoulder banged into the light post behind you. You didn’t know it was there, having lost track of your surrounding as you walked in the haze of thoughts. A gasped yelp slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

Appearances. You had to keep up appearances. Swallow the pain, don’t let anyone know. Don’t let anyone see. 

“You alright?” The man asked as he steadied you, large hand gripping the outside of your shoulder only making the pain flair more. 

Shrugging out from under his grip, you painted on a false smile as you willed the tears in your eyes back. 

“I’m fine,” You looked away as you saw pity cross the man’s face. How much did he see? Surely not more than what was normal, what was acceptable?

“You be careful ma’am,” the man nodded wisely to you. “Didn’t you hear? There’s a serial killer running around. Probably not good for a lady to be out alone till they catch the bastard- pardon my language.” 

“Oh my,” you tried to play the unsteadiness on your feet as being from the terrifying news. Would be believe it? Did be believe it? “I’ll be sure to be mindful, thank you.” 

You didn’t need his pity but what you needed even less of was him seeing any real reason to pity you. Forcing your hand from your shoulder, you tried to ignore the pain, to will it away. 

There was nothing to see here. Just Mrs. Latimer making her way home from the tailor shop. There were no bruises. No torn dresses. Nothing wrong. 

Life was perfectly normal, a storybook where you were married into a family of means with your family having so very little to offer. 

Tag List: @xalygatorx, @catticora, @alastor-simp, @alastorthirsty, @nyx91, @lilith-jae, @goyablogsstuff, @kaylopolis, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @charlottemorningstarsdarling, @diffidentphantom, @rainydaysmut, @honestlyshamelesskid, @yui-onnero, @lunarmango

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Next?Masterlist

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[rebelliousstories]

Love Me Dead

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: AU, Fluff, Mentions of Killing, Suggestive Themes, Mentions of Alcohol and Smoke

Word Count: 1,256

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: There are two words that start with f, and end with -ing that come to mind when he looks at her. And he certainly doesn’t want to fight her.

Consider Donating: Here

New Orleans, Louisiana. A dirty, crime infested, hellscape that made it the perfect background for this story. It was never supposed to be this way, but that is what happens when the hunter becomes the hunted. Of course, he never said it aloud, but there was a reason to his madness. They tried to kill him, so why should he not do the same? Except, he actually succeeds.

Remy LeBeau was stalking down a dark alleyway, towards a club that he was a regular at. It was dark and seedy, but that meant that it was easy pickings for him. He knew the bouncer that was at the door; an old childhood friend that let him in with no hassle. Smoke blurred the vision of a lot of people, before it rose to the top of the room. His eyes scanned the room, and saw his target. A friend of humanity was sitting at the bar, already far too gone to be in complete control.

He saddled up to the bar, and began to butter him up. At that point, Gambit knew that this man was really gone, because his eyes were not bothering him. So he just kept it up. In the middle of his work, he felt someone brush against his back. It was not enough to break him from his spell, but the voice he could hear through the crowd was intoxicating.

But Gambit was so close to sinking this target. He had the man right where he wanted him.

“Why don’ we go outside so you can clear your head, mon ami?” Remy helped the man off of his barstool, and began to walk them outside.

Out there, the cold air made Gambit perk up some more. Watching the man next to him, he just waited for a bit. This was the fun part, but also the most tedious; waiting for the right time to strike. Vaguely, he heard the door to the bar open and shut, but he paid it no mind. He withdrew a playing card, and was poised and ready to hit him with it when he heard it again. That voice.

“Hey, y’all alright over there?” Remy cursed whatever higher power was out there. He could see her getting closer, making him quickly extinguish his card and hoist the other man’s arm over his shoulder.

“Oh, no need t’ worry about us gentlemen, chere. Jus’ takin’ my buddy home. Had a bit too much, ya know?” He lied smoothly off of his silver tongue. But she just came closer.

“Do you need any help? He looks pretty out of it.” She offered, and it was the that Remy noticed just how sweet the appearance of the voice was. Her hair nicely done, and a cute little skirt on her body. He had to physically shake the thoughts out of his head to refocus.

“We’ll be alrigh’, chere.” However, she still did not look convinced. So Gambit doubled down.

“My apartment is jus’ a few blocks from here. He can sleep it off der. No need t’ worry, chere.”

She chewed her bottom lip, but eventually relented. As Gambit passed, he took a deep breath of her perfume and immediately found himself to be in love with her. The part about his apartment being just a couple blocks away was true. But the fact that they were going to be staying in the alleyway behind it was omitted. That evening, Remy found less joy in his kill. He would have much rather spent his evening talking with that woman that ensnared his senses so quickly, but he had already put a lot of effort into this target. It would be a shame for it to go away.

The following evening, the lively city came back in full force. Headlines read everywhere that there was a serial killer loose on New Orleans, targeting anti-mutant humans specifically and women that had a very specific physical description. They theorized that a mad man was loose on the city, but that just made Remy laugh as he read his newspaper. He found himself back at that same bar, but this time not for a new target. Rather, he hoped to get a glimpse of that woman again.

He had spent an hour there already, and there was no sign of her. Gambit was becoming grumpier by the second. Nursing his glass of whiskey, he kept his eyes trained on the door. So far, no mystery woman. Another half hour went by and he was contemplating throwing in the towel. There were plenty of women ready to throw themselves at him; so why was he so fascinated by this one? Someone tapped him on the shoulder, causing the mutant to turn around. Holding in a growl, Gambit was pleasantly surprised as to who he saw.

“Chere, you’re here again. What are de odds o’ dat?” His smooth accent was being his own personal wingman this time around.

“I was hoping to run into you. I didn’t catch your name last night.”

“Remy LeBeau. They call me da Gambit. Enchanté, mon chere.” Holding his hand out, he was gifted with her own name. Taking her hand in his, Remy pressed a kiss to her knuckles while looking her in the eyes. The dark lights in the bar did wonders to hide a lot from untrained eyes, but they did not fully hide her blush as he came up.

“Whatcha doin’ here tonight?” Gambit asked, watching her intensely under the dim lights.

“Well, I was hoping to run into you again. What are you doing here?” She returned, seemingly as infatuated with him as he was with her.

“You found me, chere. I’m jus’ here lookin’ for a lil’ bit o’ fun. Maybe you’d wanna go somewhere a lil’ bit more quiet, no?” Nodding his head to the back door, he watched to see what she might want to do next. After a moment of careful consideration, she placed her hand in his and let him lead her out of the bar.

Outside was just like last night. A brisk breeze that would sober up those that might be a little tipsy. The chill felt good on his skin, but it made her begin to shiver underneath her cute outfit. Without thinking about it, Gambit took his jacket off and placed it around her shoulders. When he turned away from her, she breathed in his scent in the warm leather.

“Really quick, Remy,” she started, looking at him through her lashes, “you’re not a serial killer, are you?” He chuckled for a moment before leveling her with a stare.

“How do I know you ain’t one either, chere?” He teased, but her face was serious.

“I mean, the probability of two serial killers being in the same vicinity is remarkably low. But one, not so much.”

A smirk overtook his face. He was liking this woman more and more. Gambit could not tell if she was joking or not either, which made him feel all giddy inside.

“I guess we’ll have to see, chere. Say, you wouldn’t wanna grab a bite t’ eat? There’s a cafe open 24 hours just a block away. Care for a beignet?” Walking out of the alley, he turned and extended his hand once more. But this time she needed much less time to consider her decision.

Hand in hand, the two set out against the dark backdrop of the city in search of companionship in a such an unusual person.

[comicaurora]

I've started making my way through the playlist hbomberguy made of actually good video essays by queer creators and spotted a comment of yours on the one about the relationship between Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, which was fun xD red in the wild!

Anyways, just wanted to appreciate how both you and Blue and you are very good at showing your sources! It's always nice to know that the people you've watched for years have good habits after an event like this, and I hope you guys are among the people that get some new fans after this whole debacle, because your channel definitely qualifies for "good educational videos made by queer people"

I'm glad! Blue's much better about listing his sources and follow-up reading than I am.

To be honest, I loved the video, but my imposter syndrome always flares like crazy when I watch an essay like that. It might be the ADHD or it might just be who I am as a person, but I feel like I've lived my whole life striving to make everything I do the best it can be, and still managing to fuck up and get criticised for things I could've done better if only I never missed anything. It's an actual gut-drop when it turns out a source I used wasn't trustworthy, or when in older videos I only went wiki-deep for some claims and didn't check every source to be 100% sure I wasn't being goat-fish'd. And this being the internet, I can get criticized at any time for things I've gotten wrong years ago, since it's evergreen online and to the new-viewing critic it's as fresh as yesterday. It makes it hard for me to stay proud of my work past the first moment of "oh I would've done that different now". There's a cocktail of complicated, scary feelings around this space, no matter how little I actually have in common with the bad guys of this scenario - it's less about the reality and more about who my imposter syndrome tells me I am. I saw several people saying that the video actually made them feel much better about their own work because it made it clear that accidental plagiarism on that scale is impossible, but if my anxieties listened to reason I would've successfully machete'd them out of my skull years ago. I just hope I never fuck up badly enough to deserve an hbombing of my own.

But my own stress aside, the hbomb essay exposed a level of laxness, laziness and entitlement on the part of these plagiarists that I think is almost incomprehensible to people who actually create for a living or even just the joy of it. How hollow do you have to be to take in someone else's writing and not consider it, digest it, let it reshape your views and then formulate your own interpretation on it, but instead to file off the serial numbers and pretend it's yours, trusting that the person whose thoughts and words you valued enough to steal will never be powerful enough to call you out on it? I go down research rabbit holes because I love the frustration and thrill of putting something together! How joyless it must be to skim the surface and borrow someone else's conclusions!

I've sometimes had people email asking for sources on parts of my interpretation of various myths, possibly in the interest of source-citing for school papers (a nightmare concept in and of itself) and with very few exceptions I usually have to tell them "the only sources were the english translations I used of the primary source where the myth was originally written, like I said in the video, and the part where I said I was conspiracy-boarding has no source other than my own analysis of the given source, which is why I called it conspiracy-boarding" and I was always a little baffled by those emails - half the videos are introduced like "this is The Prose Edda" or "this is in Ovid's Metamorphoses" or "this bit is Hesiod" so what else could they want - but seeing the hbomb of the week made me realize that truly original analysis might not be what most people are expecting from a "thing summarized." They might be expecting a compilation of other people's summaries instead.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Scallion (The Surprise, Part 16)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: explicit language, pregnancy times, vague mentions of sex, very vague mentions of past trauma (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.3k

Summary: You're almost at the third trimester, and Emily decides to take you on a surprise babymoon. The catch: she absolutely will not reveal where you're going. Road trip fluff ensues.

Week 26: The Scallion

You floated somewhere in between sleeping and waking, reluctant to move, relishing the weight of Emily’s arms around you, the warm solidity of her body pressed into your back. It wasn’t often these last few weeks that you woke up with her next to you. She was early to work and late coming back. You knew she was just trying to get everything in order, so that when she went on parental leave, her team would be okay. But you’d missed this, you’d missed her.

You blinked your eyes open, fighting off a stretch so as not to disturb Emily, but jerked up, throwing the covers off when you saw the time. Emily grabbed your arm instinctively, protectively, bleary with sleep.

“What!?” she called, blinking into the sun that streamed through the curtains. “What is it!?”

“It’s 10:30!” you yelled, waddling as fast as you could toward the closet and fumbling as you pulled on a pair of shorts. “I’m supposed to be at work! You’re supposed to be at work!” You poked your head out of a t-shirt, staring at Emily with a mix of frustration and panic. “Why aren’t you at work!? You always get up first. I know because I get up when you get up.”

“Sweetheart, calm down.” Emily chuckled, standing to squeeze your hands in hers and plant a kiss on your forehead. “I’m not going to work today.”

Your annoyance gave way to a flood of concern.

“Are you sick?” you asked, looking at her a bit more closely and placing the back of your hand on her forehead.

“No,” she said, leading you to the bed, even as you were fidgeting to get to your home office and log on to Slack. “You’re not going to work today either.”

“Oh, but I am,” you argued, trying and failing not to get drawn in by her lips tracing down your neck. “I’ve got important stuff to do. Not, you know, catching-serial-killers important, but a little important. It’s kind of hard to play hooky when you work from home. My boss will kill me.”

“What if I told you I already talked to him?” Emily teased, and you pulled back, taking her face in her hands to see if she was being serious.

“You talked to my boss?” You were incredulous. Emily had only met your boss a handful of times, at the company holiday dinner, where they flew you in and put you up at a hotel.

“I did.” Emily placed a warm kiss on the corner of your mouth and stood, leaving you confused and honestly a little worked up. She disappeared down the hallway, her voice trailing back to you. “And you’re not going to work today. Or tomorrow. Or next week.”

She reemerged, rolling two suitcases behind her, presenting them to you with an expression of such self-satisfaction, such unbridled joy and devotion, that you would have acted thrilled even if she’d said she was taking you on a trip to the laundromat.

“Emily Prentiss,” you exclaimed, standing and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Are you taking me on a surprise vacation?!”

“I’m taking you on a surprise babymoon,” she clarified, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissing you.

Emily refused to tell you where you were going, not then, not even as you dug into a box of Cheez-Its she’d packed for the road and watched her merge onto I-95 South.

“South?” you commented, handing her a few Cheez-Its as she held out her hand. She nodded, then shrugged.

“Not too far South, I hope,” you said, staring out the window. “I know you didn’t grow up in the South like me, but I meant it when I said Florida’s not safe for us.”

“I’m not taking you to Florida, Y/N,” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t take you somewhere you didn’t feel safe.”

After a few minutes, she continued. “Also, you know I’ll always keep you safe, no matter where we are. I mean, fuck, I’m packing!”

“You are?” you said suggestively, twirling a finger through the hair at Emily’s nape.

She blushed. “Not that kind of packing. A gun!”

You leaned over the center console to kiss her cheek, massaging her shoulders. “Yes, Emily, love of my life, I know you’ll keep me safe, even in Florida.”

You drove in silence for a while when a horrible thought struck you. “You did bring the stuff for the other kind of packing, right?”

“What is this, amateur hour?” Emily replied. “Of course I did.”

You loved road trips. You were a passenger princess down to your very core. You loved choosing the podcasts and the music and handling the snacks and holding Emily’s hand as she drove. But you weren’t used to being six months pregnant on a road trip. You had a hard time getting comfortable, shifting and squirming in your seat. And you had to pee all the time.

You’d already stopped for lunch and a bathroom break once, but you were starting to feel the pressure yet again. You were passing through Norfolk, Virginia, and the further South you got, the more conscious you were of cities. You’d stopped at enough rural Southern gas stations to know that sometimes it was hard to find ones that felt safe. You knew that’d be doubly true now, as a visibly-queer, pregnant couple. Emily alone could pass as straight, except around other queer people, who clocked her almost immediately. You, on the other hand, looked queer. It was dangerous enough for you in the South, depending on where you were. Pregnant? And with a wife? You knew it’d be worse.

“How much longer?” you asked.

“What are you, six?” Emily teased.

You huffed, pouting. “No, I’m six months pregnant with your baby, and I have to pee all the time and my back is killing me.”

You immediately regretted snapping as you watched Emily’s face fall. “I’m sorry, honey,” you said, rubbing the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry. You’re doing something so nice for us, and all I can think about is my next pee break.”

She cracked a smile and lifted your hand to her lips, planting a kiss on your knuckles. “It’s okay,” she assured you. “I forget the little rapscallion is taking up all your bladder space. We’ve got about two hours left. I’ll find somewhere for us to stop.”

You gasped and pointed out the window to an exit sign. “Emily, look, look, look! Cracker Barrel!”

She gaped at you. “That’s where you feel safe peeing?!”

“They’re LGBTQ-friendly,” you protested. “And they’ve got those candy sticks like Little House on the Prairie.”

As you pulled into the parking lot, she looked apprehensively at the rocking chairs, the old, straight couples making their way in, the several lifted trucks.

You clambered happily out of the passenger seat, Emily trailing behind you, hand lightly grazing her concealed carry holster. She felt nearly assaulted by kitschy Southern goods upon walking in, making sure you’d made it to the bathroom before looking around. So much stuff. All with dumb sayings like, “Bless your biscuits and gravy,” or “All I need is Jesus and coffee.”

It was moments like this that Emily realized just how different your upbringing had been than hers. Of course, Emily’s childhood was anything but normal, but her home environment had been–she thought–rather generically American. But you! You’d expanded her ideas of the South as a racist, bigoted, ignorant monolith because you were none of those things. You were one of the smartest people she knew, the kindest and least judgmental. She hated when people made assumptions about you based on where you were from or on the fact that you said “y’all.” She hated even more that, a decade ago, she would have made those exact same assumptions.

“Hey,” you said, startling her. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Emily breathed, conscious and a little sad to notice how you stopped yourself from looping your arm with hers, from using pet names, from doing anything to suggest that you were more than friends. “Did you get your prairie snacks or whatever?”

“Yep!” You grinned and held up a fistful of colorful, striped candy sticks.

Another hour in the car and you were dutifully sucking on a strawberry lemon candy stick, bouncing your head in time with Salt-N-Pepa’s “Whatta Man.”

“This song makes me think of you,” you observed out of the blue.

Emily cackled. “What!? Why!?”

You grinned. “Because you’re crazy and you make me laugh and I do want to have your baby!”

She laughed, and it made your heart soar. She was so pretty when she laughed, really laughed. It was something not a whole lot of people got to see.

“So I’m the man in this scenario?”

“No!” you argued. “Sometimes I’m Whatta Man. Just depends on how I’m feeling. That’s what’s great about being gay.”

“Mm, I don’t know, I can think of a few better things about being gay,” Emily said, squeezing your thigh.

As the car approached a bridge and a big, blue expanse of water, you sat up straight and craned your neck.

“Water!” you exclaimed, looking for signs to identify it. “The Currituck Sound?” Your heart leapt and your stomach did somersaults.

You turned to Emily, nearly falling on her to lean over the console. “Are we going to the Outer Banks!?” you squealed.

Emily nodded, smiling big.

You were nearly bursting with excitement. “That’s where my family always went! Before…” Well, before your family hadn’t been able to go anymore.

“I know it is,” Emily said, holding your hand. “I got us a little beachfront house with a balcony and a hot tub right down the street from where your family used to stay in Nags Head.”

“How did you know where it was?!” you asked, breathless, bringing Emily’s hand to your lips and kissing it again and again.

“I called your mom,” she smirked.

“God, I love you so much.” You rolled down the window and hung your head out like a dog, much to Emily’s amusement, smelling the salty, briny air that was so familiar and so nostalgic to you.

Half an hour later, you were pulling down a sandy drive on a street that was synonymous with childhood happiness. Your mom had grown up here, and you’d spent your summers as a young child tramping about the marshes, boogie boarding, identifying shells, and building sand castles. You remembered fish fries on the back porch, how you always hid from your grandfather as he cleaned the fresh-caught flounder and red drum. You remembered ice cream cones dripping down your fingers, washing them off in the surf. The fresh, almost sandpapered feeling of emerging from a shower after a day spent outside. The way your body still rocked with the waves when you crawled into bed at night.

You were beyond thrilled to share it with Emily. It was as if you were inviting Emily back in time, to a place you had felt so deeply yourself. You couldn’t wait to be there with her. To show her all the shell shapes and watch the sunrise and tell her about the dunes and how important they are. You couldn’t wait to fall asleep rocked by Emily and by the memory of the waves.

As you stepped out of the car and followed Emily up the stairs and into the house, you both stopped and stared at the wall of sliding glass doors. The perfect ocean, mellowed in the late afternoon light. The sound of the waves crashing was music to your ears. You wrapped your arm around Emily’s and took her hand, planting a kiss on her shoulder and leaning into her. You didn’t know how it’d be possible to be happier.

And then it hit you–you could come back with the baby. You could come back again and again, just like you had when you were little.

“Em,” you said quietly.

“Yeah, baby?” She moved to wrap her arms around you from behind, resting her palms over your baby bump.

“Can we come back here? With the baby?”

You could feel Emily’s breath on your neck.”I booked this week in June for the next three years.”

And the fact that she’d brought you here, that she’d known this is where you’d want to be, where you’d want all of you to be–it brought tears to your eyes. She was starting a tradition. No, she was restarting a tradition, in a new way, that would fit your new family. It was perfect. She was perfect.

“Hey, now,” she said as you sniffled, wiping your eyes. “No tears.” She kissed you softly, lovingly, running her thumbs back and forth along your cheekbones.

When she pulled away, you were smiling, eyes twinkling and mischievous.

“You want to go put your toes in the water, don’t you?” Emily grinned.

You nodded, and grabbed her hand, pulling her after you. Out the back door, across the boardwalk that protected the dunes, running as fast as your little pregnant body could take you until you hit the water. It was cool and salty and strong and you felt happier than perhaps you’d ever been–especially as Emily joined you.

And as she watched you kick around in the water, hair blowing in the salt air, cheeks red with heat and excitement, she knew she’d done good. She’d done good with it all. With the beach house. The Outer Banks. With deciding to have a child with you. With choosing you. You were just right. You were perfect. She could watch you forever, content to bask in your joy. As if you were the sun. And, to Emily, you were.

[agustdiv1ne]

❦°｡9:51 p.m. (m) — choi soobin

genre: dark content, mdni!!! ageless blogs dni!!!! serial killer!soobin, fem!potential victim!reader, thriller, light smսt

wc: 3.5k

warnings: talks of murder (but none actually occur), slight coercion, oral (m receiving), drugging, violence, weapons, blood, general insanity....

this fic contains dark content. please heed all warnings above and read at your own discretion.

soobin’s favorite color is red. 

he’s quite obsessed with it, really. his favorite shirt is a maroon button-up, his phone case has crimson details…he tries to look for it everywhere when he’s out and about, he surrounds himself with it at home. his favorite time of year is when the humid summer fades into mild autumn, as the change in seasons brings with it ruby leaves and dying trees — oh, death. in addition to the fiery shade, soobin finds himself enamored with eternal rest. it’s just oh so freeing, an end of a cycle, a path to purity. there is nothing more pure than the act of shedding the mortal skin to find a higher meaning — to be reborn. 

soobin likes helping people be reborn just as much as he likes the color red. 

but only people he finds worthy: the innocent ones, the ones who have placed too much trust in a world that is wrought with cruelty and had their hearts ripped out in the process. those are the ones who need saving, he thinks, and he finds great happiness, an overwhelming sense of pride, in being the one who can save them. it’s fate that brings him into these people’s lives, after all. something has chosen him to guide these people towards a greater path, to help the weak and downtrodden, the ones looking for betterment. there is no doubt in his mind that would cause him to think otherwise.

he adores helping people, but he wishes that they were just a bit more sympathetic to his cause. it’s not as if he enjoys hurting them, but his methods are the only way that any of this can be accomplished. no matter how much he tries to explain, they always scream and cry and beg to be let go, they always try to run away even if they’re bound…they don’t understand that all he wants to do is take them to a better place, yet they make it so difficult for him to be nice, to keep his composure. they always make him resort to extremes — but at the same time, he can't be too disappointed when they struggle. 

blood is unequivocally beautiful to him, after all.

the city has faded into darkness since he���s begun unwinding from the work week. soobin’s office job provides him with little joy and nothing to look forward to, so he often spends his nights taking walks about the city. sometimes, he’s looking for something, someone; and sometimes, he simply allows the cool air to soothe him, wandering without a particular goal in mind, just living. breathing. being. 

tonight, however, the former rings true. it’s been too long since he’s last aided a stranger. his previous succor occurred over three months ago, and the empty, unfulfilled feeling within his chest has chipped away at flesh and bone until nothing but a gaping cavern remains. it’s time to fill that aching void up again. he loves people, he loves helping them. it’s the only thing in his life that makes him feel truly alive. doing this is as vital as his need to breathe, to eat.

as he continues to stroll along the fog-shrouded road, he eventually spots his next potential project: you’re stumbling along the sidewalk in front of him, sobs ripping themselves from your throat so loud that he can hear them despite the significant distance separating himself from you. dressed in a creamy white coat and light wash jeans, you look like an angel from behind. he wonders what your face looks like, fresh with tears and red-rimmed eyes. where are you headed at this hour — alone, no less? more importantly, what’s gotten you so worked up? do you need his help? evidently, you might. it wouldn’t hurt to check on you.

quickening his pace, his long legs begin to close the distance between you and him. despite his intentionally loud footfalls, you do not seem to acknowledge his presence behind you as he approaches. you should be more careful; you never know who could take advantage of your vulnerable state, although he is grateful that he is the one to find you. he has only your best interests in mind, unlike the rest of the selfish population of this city. you don’t turn around even when he’s finally a mere few feet away, so lost in your own little world that its real counterpart has all but fallen away. 

“miss?” he calls, deep voice ringing out into the chilled air. an air of friendly concern is apparent in his timbre, and it’s not a lie. he really is concerned for you. “are you okay?”

your entire form jolts, feet coming to a halt as you spin around to face him — and oh, you poor thing. streaks of watered down mascara mar your cheeks, eyes round and bloodshot and glinting with tears beneath the streetlight above. your hands come up to wipe under your eyes in a weak attempt of hiding your current emotional state. evidently, it fails, gray spreading further across your face as he blinks at you, wrinkles forming between his brows while he waits for a response.

“i’m— i’m fine, thank you.” while your words are meant to placate his worry, your quiet, warbly tone is less than convincing. he decides not to pry too hard — you look halfway ready to flee as it is — instead opting to remain in place as he drinks you in. indeed, you look like an angel. even with your puffy eyes and kicked puppy expression, he finds you lovely, your voice soft and delicate like wind chimes. the overwhelming urge to wrap you in his arms, to keep you safe from the world, flashes through his body. he pushes the feeling away. he can’t scare you away if he wants to learn more about your situation, whether or not you are worthwhile. 

“are you sure?” he gently asks. for a second, your eyes blink up at him, less guarded now. soobin is well acquainted with his effect on women, the softness he holds in his voice and gaze, the openness of his features that must scream trust me. he can tell that he’s got you when you toy with your bottom lip for a moment, gaze trailing off towards the side of the side as you decide to continue this conversation with him. you easily could have walked away, or even told him to leave you alone, but you don’t. you don’t, and he feels his heart pound in excitement because of it.

staring down at his shoes, you murmur, “yeah, it’s just— it’s stupid, actually, nevermind.”

“well, it surely can’t be that stupid if it made you cry.” and your upset mask cracks just the slightest bit. so pretty. so, so pretty. your smile causes every single nerve ending in his body to tingle. a smile forms on his own face, and something in the air between you changes in that moment. a mutual understanding that you won’t be explaining the reason behind your tears right now, but some company would be nice. 

a convenience store lies maybe twenty feet up in the road, and he falls into step with you once you ask if he’d like to grab something to eat there. he quickly learns that you prefer the veggie triangle kimbap over any other flavor and that you have a borderline strange obsession with banana milk, but he still hasn’t learned your name. as you continue talking, the realization eats at him. he likes you, he thinks that you’re sweet and kind — too kind for this world. you deserve better. if he continues to get close to you, maybe you’ll be understanding enough to accept what he’s trying to do here. soobin can be quite patient, after all, and you seem more than worth his time. however, his first step in this plan is to learn your name. 

leaning against the counter next to him, you beat him to the punch. “i never got your name.”

fuck, your voice sings so prettily in his ears, and you look so shy, so demure just asking that. how sweet you are. all he wants to do is wrap you up and protect you, hold you close and shield you from everything terrible. instead, he swallows down a mouthful of ramen and gives you a charming smile. “soobin. choi soobin.”

“that’s a nice name,” you say, innocent eyes peering up at him. the redness has receded to the edges of your scleras, the puffiness of your face slightly calmed down. he’s made you feel better, but he knows he can eliminate all sorrow from your life, if you’ll allow him to.

“i’m sure yours is prettier,” he says, voice trailing off at the end. with a playful roll your eyes, you provide your own, and his grin grows wider. “ah, i was right.”

the flustered press of your lips is enough to tell him that his plan is working so far. your naivety is endearing to him. it makes everything easier — even better, when he asks to walk you home after citing potential danger, you accept without a single hint of doubt, eyes wide as you comment that you hadn’t thought of that. so sweet, so trusting. no one else will be able to hurt you now that he has set his sights on you.

“would you…like to come in?” you ask as soon as you reach your building, shyness returning in full force. hope drips from each word, your fingers nervously fidgeting at your sides. he can’t help but accept your offer. he’d honestly be a fool not to.

your apartment is a modest one-bedroom with a small living room, a living room in which he finds himself in as you busy yourself in the kitchen. trying not to stare too hard at your form over the small island that separates the two rooms, he busies himself with picking at a loose thread on the couch. for some reason, nerves eat at his stomach, festering there like a swarm of wasps. he’s never had someone invite him into their home so early on. this is new, different — he’s not sure what to do with himself. 

“could i offer you some water? or tea?” you call. he swivels his head to find you looking at him while waving a teapot in the air. the moment you realize what you are doing, you drop your arm, your free hand coming up to scratch your cheek. 

holding back a chuckle, he offers a kind nod. “tea sounds wonderful, thank you.”

this seems like the correct choice, if your wide grin is anything to go by. would you look the same if he tells you what he plans with you? would you understand? he’s not sure yet, but he will learn with time. so far, you’re his favorite, even if he’s known you for less than an hour. you are the closest to being untainted. perhaps it’s a selfish desire, but keeping you around for a bit longer than the others wouldn’t be so bad. he ponders if he should just take you with him now just as he did with all the others. he’s got a packet of pills in his trouser pocket waiting to be used, it would almost be too easy to slip one into your drink given your acute lack of awareness. at the same time, he has learned from his past mistakes; patience will bring his plan to fruition. this is just the beginning.

a mug of tea appears before his eyes, and he swallows down a flinch before he’s reaching out to take it from you. your fingers just barely brush against his, nearly making him drop the mug. your skin — it’s soft, warm. he wants to feel it more, have his palms run over every one of your curves, feel your chest against his as he takes you…he swats those thoughts away as he shifts uncomfortably. 

silence fills the space between you, a blanket over his head meant to suffocate him. he takes a sip of the steaming hot tea, a dark, cloudy amber in a pompompurin mug that just seems so you. the tea itself blooms sweet on his tongue, notes of honey and lavender coating his taste buds, his muscles relaxing into the couch as he continues to sip the liquid, eventually downing the rest. he glances over to find that you have shrunk into yourself, sock-clad feet curled up onto the couch while your hands grip your own mug close your chest. 

“i’m going to go to the bathroom, i’ll be right back,” you say suddenly, placing your mug on the coffee table before scurrying off. the bathroom door slams shut, the lock clicking immediately after, leaving him alone. he stares at your mug. the item taunts him. come on, put something in there. mix it up and take you now. 

he shouldn’t. he should be patient, but the opportunity is right here for him to take. you’ll be understanding once he explains everything to you. you’ll be different from the others. 

so he slips a pill from his pocket and drops it into your mug, watching the capsule dissolve into the transparent liquid. the slight change in color and opacity doesn’t worry him — it’s not as if your perception is that acute. when the sound of your approaching footsteps forces him back to his side of the couch, his heart begins to pound against his ribcage so hard that he fears it may burst. keep it together. you won’t notice. 

instead of plopping onto your original seat, you make the bold decision to sit down right next to him, facing him. biting your lip, your eyes flit to the floor, then back to him. an invisible magnet pulls you closer. once mere millimeters separate your faces, he pauses, staring down at the way your chest stutters, so close to his own. he should stop this — he just met you, but the way you trust him so easily is doing things to him that he’s never felt before. this twisting feeling in his stomach…it’s so sweet, and you’re just so cute. he wants to protect you. he wants to use you. 

it’s unclear who commits first, but his lips are pressed against yours. softness is the first thing that he registers, then the uncertainty that freezes you against him. a hand moves up to cup your jaw, holding you close to him as he moves his lips gently against your own. slowly, you begin to reciprocate, lips parting to allow his tongue to slip into your mouth. slow, soft...it’s everything soobin has wished for in his lonely life. this kind of connection, this gentle intimacy that is now filling that empty hole in his heart that has always yearned to be filled. he has kissed others before, yes, but he’s never felt like this.

the feeling is quickly becoming too much for him, especially now that your hands are sliding their way towards his waistband. pulling away, he grabs your hands, holding them as holds your gaze. “you don’t have to. i know we just met—”

“but i want to,” you pout, wide, pitiful gaze burning through his as you slip off the couch and onto the wooden floor, your hands leaving his to rest on his thighs. “don’t you want it too?”

he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but the sight of you on your knees between his thighs with a cute little pout gracing your lips makes him wonder what you would look like with his cock shoved down your throat, tears streaming down your face as you choke on him. 

pawing at his thighs, you plead, “please, soobin? you helped me feel better, i want to make you feel good too. please?” 

you might just start crying if he doesn’t let you — and he would hate to be the reason why, so he gives in with a nod, helping you unzip his trousers and shove his boxers down his thighs, revealing his hard dick to your eager eyes. your hand looks so small compared to him, barely able to wrap around his girth as you begin to pump him, lips wrapping around his cockhead and your tongue slipping into his slit to taste the salty precum gathered there. he groans, head thrown back against the couch as he resists thrusting up into your mouth. 

“so good, fuck,” he groans, his voice trailing off into a moan as the pleasure begins to build, your hums against his cock sending him straight towards euphoria. suddenly, your head lurches forward, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can, your hand pumping what you are unable to fit. his eyes roll back into his head, staccato moans leaving his lips while you bob your head up and down, your throat contracting around his cockhead before you’re pulling yourself off with a cough. 

he tries to move his hand to caress your hair, to give you some semblance of comfort, only to realize that he can’t. his arms won’t move, nor will his head, or his legs — or anything. wait, what the fuck? what’s going on with him? all he can do is sit there and watch as you continue to pump him faster, licking up his precum at his tip until he cums in weak spurts into your mouth. he can’t even cant his hips, and he can barely feel his orgasm wash over him, numbness spreading across his body. humming, your eyes flutter shut as you swallow his release. when you look up at him again, the glint within them has changed. darker, cunning. 

“i know your secret.”

when he doesn’t respond — his mouth won’t move — your smile grows sharp, predatory. moving to stand between his legs, you lean down to his level, brow raising when his attempt to speak results in unintelligible groans. “aw, cat got your tongue? that’s fine, makes all of this easier for me.”

all of this? what the hell are you talking about? why can’t he move? 

you seem to recognize the confusion swirling in his umber irises, booping his nose with a manicured finger before you’re turning around and reaching for your mug. inspecting it’s contents, you take in the cloudy liquid before your focus returns back to him, amusement apparent in your tone. “you tried to drug me! that’s so cute!”

setting the mug back down, you slink back over to him. 

“y’know, soobin, i thought you’d be smarter than this,” you pout, sitting next to him and throwing your legs over his lap. no matter how much he wills himself to move, he’s frozen. all feeling has left his body, not even the sensation of your nail gliding along his cheek registers. “drank all that tea and didn’t even notice, you poor thing. can’t speak, can’t move, whatever are you going to do now? can’t kill me like the rest of them now…”

oh, fuck. you know — you’ve known this entire time. you’ve lured him into your trap, and he fucking fell for all of it, didn’t even question why you invited him in so easily, why you weren’t worried about a complete, potentially dangerous stranger being in your home. he couldn’t have planned for this outcome if he tried. 

“you got too cocky, baby,” you giggle, right hand reaching between your legs and into the cushions, coming up with a large knife. “never thought someone like me would pull a stunt like this, did ya? isn’t it exciting being the victim for once? i just love the thrill.”

“and you know what else i like, binnie?” you coo, tracing the silver blade against his jawline. muscles melted into the couch, soobin can only emit fearful grunts as you dig in and break skin. blood bubbles up to the surface of the wound before spilling down his neck. fuck, you cut him deep, but he can barely feel the pain.

a snap of your fingers guides his attention back to you. “i love red, just like you.”

swiping a finger through the blood dripping down his neck, you bring it up to your lips and suck, moaning at the iron-rich taste. you’re the farthest thing from the innocent lamb he painted you as. you’re fucking psychotic, pupils dilated and grin so wide your lips may split at the corners as you climb into his lap, knife now pressed against his throat. he’s completely at your mercy — your prey. cornered, nowhere to go.

“i think we’re gonna have lots of fun together,” you coo, pressing a venom-laced kiss against his lips, the bloody blade cutting into him once more. “don’t you think so too?”

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[amomentsescape]

Hi! I love your stuff, especially for the slashers. Wanted to ask for them (the slashers, specifically including michael, bubba, jason and stu) with a reader who wants to join them in killing/wants to try it with them? Out of curiosity or wanting to help them or some morbid desire, the reasons up to you. If you end up doing this then thank you! <3

Slashers with Reader Who Wants to Kill with Them

A/N: Thank you so much! I’ve included the specific Slashers you requested. But I wasn’t sure if you were asking for just them or if you wanted all of them. If you’d like to see the others, feel free to pop in my inbox again, and I’ll make a part II! :)

Michael Myers

Michael was drawn to you for a reason

There had always been a bit of darkness brewing in you, so being with a serial killer only brought that out more

When you brought up the idea of you joining along, Michael was unsure at first

He felt that you may be too fragile to risk the danger

Although terrible at showing it, he didn't want you to end up dead

But when you kept insisting, he finally gave in

You were just forced to not leave his sight the entire time

He doesn't like you getting to the target first

He'll let you finish the job (sometimes), but he wants to be the one to knock them down

He would also want you to use a knife during the killings

Anything loud would be an immediate no

When he realizes that you may like killing as much as he does, this soon becomes a regular thing for you both

It's as romantic as Michael will ever get

He teaches you different areas on the body to target

Shows you shortcuts along the paths so you can always get to your target

But he'll be there to help you out if things go south, of course

Just don't expect him to share all of this secrets

He enjoys having that advantage over you

If you get badly injured though, it's game over

Jason Voorhees

He's pretty iffy about this at first too

His mother is the main driving force behind his crimes, so although he doesn't mind killing, it's not pure passion that drives him

So when you shared that you were interested in doing what he does, he felt a little confused

Your safety is his number one priority, so he would be pretty adamant to not let you do it at first

However, if you put your foot down, he'll give in

Will give you your very own weapon (something quiet) and teach you how to use it

Would probably bring home some random victim for you to try to kill the first time around

He wants to make sure you really want to do this (and being at home meant you were safer)

If you tell him that you truly enjoy it, then he'll take you out with him

But don't leave his sight

He'll become very pouty if you run off

He's very sweet to you after everything either way though, carefully using warm water to wipe off the sweat and blood from your face

Bubba Sawyer

The hardest one to convince out of these

You just wanted to help him and his family out, but he continuously refused

Bubba doesn't even really kill for enjoyment

He does it because it's how his family survives (or so he's been told)

So you wanting to join is mind boggling to him

It's way too dangerous anyways

But he is quite a softie for you so if it's really important, he'll eventually give in

Always has to be there and helping you though

He won't let you do anything on your own

Will give you a run down of the land and help you memorize the layout

Sounds of joy whenever you kill someone yourself

He's very sweet with cleaning you off after too

But if he sees even one scratch or bruise, he will not let you outside for a long time

You basically have to repeat the begging and reasoning with him all over again before he considers letting you help him after that

Stu Macher

Hell yeah

Stu is all over this and is basically over the moon

Killing wasn't exactly in your things to do, but the more you watched Stu come home with a high, the more you wanted to try it out

He starts rambling about what your outfit should be, where to get the best knife, who would make the best target, etc.

Wouldn't let you do any killings on your own at first

He has to make sure that he is just a few steps away so that he can help you if things don't go as planned

Seeing you in blood is an immediate turn on

He will definitely make out with you over the dead bodies

Constant praises over what you did right and how hot you looked doing it

Raiding the victims' pantries and eating their food after everything

He especially loves to shower with you at the end of the night and hold you close

All of this gets to the point where he doesn't even want to go on a killing spree unless you're there by his side

[kaika7]

You're Not Alone

Despair Disease Nagito Komaeda x Shy/Awkward and GN! Reader

Summary: You visit Nagito Komaeda when he's ill with the Despair Disease and make sure he feels loved and not alone.

Warnings: Discussions of dying (no one actually dies!)

A/N: This is my first fic, so it's likely far from ideal. I hope you still get something out of this though!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You anxiously made your way to the hospital with Hajime and Fuyuhiko. Ever since Akane, Nagito, and Ibuki fell ill with the despair disease, you all decided to split into two groups to prevent it from spreading to everyone. Originally, just Hajime, Fuyuhiko, and Mikan were going to stay at the hospital with them, but you insisted on joining their group. Everyone was a little surprised by your insistence, but they went along with it. 

In truth, you were really worried about Nagito. Sure, he was a little scary before- especially during the first class trial. But, you couldn’t help but sense there was more to him beneath the surface. 

As you had tried to talk to him, he seemed quite delighted that you wanted to spend time with him. His face would light up every time you came by.

“Wow, I can’t believe someone like you wants to talk with trash like me!” He beamed with a cheery face.

Over time, he began to open up to you about his past, and you learned about his luck cycle. He had a beloved pet dog that got hit by a truck and passed away, but the dog allowed him to experience the joy of love and companionship. His parents died in a plane hijacking, but he survived, gained his independence, and a large inheritance. He was kidnapped by a serial killer and thrown in a dumpster, but he won millions of yen in a lottery ticket he found inside. He was diagnosed with stage three lymphoma and frontotemporal dementia, but he was accepted into Hope’s Peak academy. This caused Nagito to believe that if a horrific event happens, something amazing of equal magnitude will happen and vice versa. That’s where his belief in hope came from.

Despite his easygoing outward composure, you couldn’t help but sense a deep anxiety constantly brooding within him. Wherever he went with you, he would constantly be analyzing the terrain and the activities you’d be engaging in to make sure you’d be safe. He wouldn’t even go swimming with you because he casually said you could be taken away by a rip tide and stuck at the bottom of the ocean…. And then be eaten by a shark.

After learning all of this and seeing the way he treated you, you couldn’t help but sympathize with him…. and start to develop feelings for him. You were beginning to understand him more; he was not the malicious person others labeled him as. He did some questionable things for sure, but he did them with good intentions. Plus, his frontotemporal dementia was clouding his judgement, making him take things further than he normally would have. 

Yesterday, you went for a walk on the beach with him. His eyes constantly scanned the sand and occasionally darted to the water, as if he was looking for any sharp objects or crustacean that could injure you. When you sat down under the palm trees, he checked the trunk and branches to make sure it was sturdy and not going to break and fall. He also checked for any loose coconuts. Once he felt it was safe, he took a seat next to you.

“…I…” He stuttered, not looking at you. He just stared out into the ocean. “I’ve always been alone… never had anyone’s love. Not that I deserve it, but…I’m just so scared to die alone.” He stayed silent for a bit, and you were just speechless. You wanted to tell him so badly that he’ll never be alone. That you love him. You’ll stay by his side, but you just froze in the moment. The words in your mind could not make their way to your lips.

Sensing the silence, he quickly retracted his previous statement. “Ah, that was just a quote I read in a book somewhere! Speeches such as those can surely evoke sympathy in others, right?” His lips curved to form a plastic smile.

You could see right through his excuse, but before you could say anything, he apologized for “wasting your precious time” and left.

And now, you are going to visit him in the hospital with Hajime and Fuyuhiko. His lymphoma already made him so weak to begin with, but this despair disease really put his body over the edge. You really wondered if this would be the end for him.

“How’s everyone doing?” Fuyuhiko asked Mikan. 

“Akane and Ibuki are still ill, but they are stable. Nagito, on the other hand, is in quite a precarious state.” Mikan explained solemnly. “His pulse is so weak, and I’ve been tending to him nearly non-stop for the past day.”

“May we see him?” Hajime asked Mikan.

“Of course, but he’s not awake.” Mikan guided them to Nagito’s room and let them in. Nagito lay motionless in the bed in his hospital gown. His face was even paler than normal and he had a mildly pained expression on his face. Beads of sweat were formed on his forehead, and his chest rose and fell shallowly.

Your heart sank seeing him like this. Your anxieties only grew seeing just how badly he was doing. “Mikan, do you think he’ll make it through the night?” You solemnly asked.

“I-I will make sure I take care of him properly all night, so he will be okay!” Mikan squeaked out. “But…” Her voice grew more slow and serious. “It is possible that he won’t pull through, despite my best efforts. So… you may want to take a few minutes with him now.”

Fuyuhiko and Hajime stepped by Nagito’s bedside.

Fuyuhiko crossed his arms and looked down. “Goddammit, man. I know you are a pain in the ass, but we can’t have anymore people dying, ya hear me? We’re all getting off this damn island, and that includes you.” After he finished speaking, he abruptly turned around and walked out still looking down.

Hajime watched Fuyuhiko leave with a pained expression and took a deep breath before facing Nagito. “Nagito, I know things have been weird, but you gotta pull through, okay? Like Fuyuhiko said, we’re getting out of here together. And once you feel better, I-I want to try to understand you better.” Hajime let out a soft chuckle and a genuine smile. “Maybe we could even become friends.” 

Hajime started to slowly walk out, but he noticed your eyes welling with tears. “Hey… do you need a moment alone with him? I know you guys seem sorta close.”

You silently nodded your head. You definitely couldn’t talk with everyone around.

“Hey, Mikan. Do you think we can give Y/N a few minutes alone with Nagito?”

“Let me see…” Mikan quickly checks his vital signs and dabs the sweat off his forehead with a towel. “His fever is still high, and his pulse is still very low, but I suppose he doesn’t need me to tend to him for a few moments.” She looked up at you. “I can give you a few minutes, but if anything strange happens, please call me in, okay?”

You nod and Hajime and Mikan walk out of the room, closing the door behind them and leaving you alone with Nagito.

You stepped closer to his bedside and pulled over a chair so you could sit beside him. He looked worse close up. His hair even more disheveled than normal, and several strains of it stuck to the dried up sweat on his forehead. His eyebrows were furrowed with discomfort, and his lips were slightly parted as small gasps of air struggled to rhythmically flow between them.

You gently held his hand and looked at his shut eyes. “Nagito… I don’t think you can really hear or understand me right now… but I want you to know that I’m here.” You pause and nervously laugh to yourself. “I’m sorry I don’t always know what to say. It’s hard for words to come out sometimes. But, I hope you can at least feel the warmth of my hand and recognize my presence.” You took a shaky breath. “Please, please know that you will never be alone. I-I really love you, Nagito.”

You gave his hand a light squeeze, and put it over your heart. “I have to leave soon. But, please know that even if I’m not physically beside you, you will always be right here with me.”

Nagito remained unresponsive throughout this conversation, but fortunately his breaths remained constant. You sighed and rested his hand back along his side. Then, you began to get up. “I… I won’t say good bye tonight… You will make it through this! I’ll come visit you in the morning. I promise. I’ll see you soon…” 

You turned around and left the room, and Mikan immediately went back in to tend to Nagito. You, Hajime, and Fuyuhiko went back to your cottages with heavy hearts- hoping for the best.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You could barely sleep a wink all night, but you did manage to dose off for a little bit. You woke up to the sound of knocking on your cottage door. Groggily making your way to the door, you unlocked it and opened it a crack. Seeing it was Hajime, you opened it more and instantly woke up. With desperation in your tone, you quickly stammered, “H-Hi! Did you hear anything about Nagito?”

Hajime reassuringly smiled. “Yes, I came by to let you know Nagito’s condition has improved! Well, a little bit, anyway. He’s still not in good shape, but he can sit up in bed and talk now- though he says quite bizarre things…” He forced a chuckle and shrugged his shoulders. “You could try visiting him if you’d like, but I just saw him and he told me to hurry up and go away. He even said that he didn’t want to see my face anymore.” Hajime exasperatedly sighs.

You stood there dumbfounded for a minute, but adrenaline quickly rushed through your veins. “Hajime, you LEFT him after he said that?! I-I have to go now!!!”

You sprinted out the door, still in your pajamas, towards the hospital as Hajime turned around and watched you run with a confused look. Geez, this guy sure has a serious case of the clueless protagonist syndrome! Nagito has the liar form of the despair disease, which means he means the opposite of everything he says. The poor thing must be so scared of dying alone.

Finally making it to the hospital, you opened the door to his room with a wheeze. “N-Nagito. H-how are you? May I come in?”

Nagito did indeed look better than last night. His he was drooling a bit and still sweaty, but he was now propped up in bed with a glazed look in his eyes. He turned his head in response to your voice and said weakly, “I’m feeling quite excellent today! And I really need you to get as far away from me as possible. I want to be alone.”

You felt a pit form in your stomach. He certainly had improved, but he was not out of the woods yet. You walked closer to his bedside and looked compassionately at him. “I’m here, Nagito. I’m right here with you.” 

Upon looking at him more closely, your eyes drifted unconsciously to where his hospital gown loosely was wrapped around him, leaving his collar bones and upper chest exposed. Seeing his bare chest slowly rise and fall in synchronization with his breaths made your cheeks flush and your mind freeze. You were pretty inexperienced with love to say the least, so these feelings are hard for you to process.

Nagito began speaking again which made you snap out of your frozen state. “Y/N, I didn’t hear what you said to me yesterday. You’re a nasty person for not thinking about someone like me, Y/N.”

Holy crap, he actually HEARD YOU? He heard your love confession?! That has got to be the worst way to be confessed to. Ugh way to go, Y/N.

With a shaky voice, you began, “Oh, I- er… I’m sorry you had to hear it like that… But I really meant everything I said. I-I’ll never leave you alone, and-” You paused to take a nervous breath. “I love you…”

An ounce of focus and shock came through Nagito’s dazed eyes. “Really? I thought you were telling me the truth just to be mean to me?”

With a slightly more confident tone, you said, “No, I wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better… I really do love you. I’m so sorry about the other day. I was just so shocked, and I didn’t know what to say right away.”

Nagito sat there stunned for a moment, and his eyes slowly started to well with tears. “I-I hate you too, Y/N. You’re the most despicable and malicious person I’ve ever met. I have zero gratitude for the love you’ve shown me, and you’re so awful for letting me die alone. I truly deserve it.”

Your eyes grew wide in surprise as a gentle blush spread across your face. After a few moments, tears formed in your own eyes. You could barely believe that he reciprocated your feelings, but you pushed your own insecurities aside to focus on supporting him. “Nagito… may I hold your hand?”

He shook his head ‘No’, so you gently squeezed his hand. “You will get better. You won’t die here today. There’s always hope, remember?” You gave him a little smirk, which made a smile crack on his face. “But even if the worst does come, you won’t be alone. I’ll repeat myself a thousand times: I’ll always be with you. You’re not alone.”

At this point, the tears were already profusely streaming down Nagito’s face, so you grabbed a tissue to dab them away for him. “Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“I know this is truly a selfless request- I’m so wonderful for even thinking to ask this- but c-could you not hold me?”

You blinked in disbelief. “You want me to cuddle you, right now?”

“No, that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do in the world. But I’m truly considerate for even asking you this. I’m so not sorry for taking advantage of you like this, I-��

Mustering up all the confidence you could, you cut Nagito off by pulling his blanket down, and then climbing into the bed with him. You laid down next to him and gestured for him to lie down. With a shocked look, he quickly complied. You gently held him close to you, letting his head rest over your heart. You stroked his soft and fluffy white hair comfortingly, hoping to ease him of any discomfort.

“Y/N…” Nagito said with a blush forming on his face. The sound of your heart beat and the warmth of your embrace was so soothing to him. He was so touched starved, he didn’t even remember the last time he was hugged. He never had experienced anything like this before.

“I’m here, and I always will be. You’re not alone, Nagito.”

[mikareo]

⌗ SEASONS OF LOVE ₊ ˖ ་. a 呪術廻戦 miniseries

“ ࣭⸰ ★ SERIAL ROMANTIC ; gojo satoru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . episode one ! ꒱ . . . word count; 1.2k ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᯇ remember when we first met?

⊹ ⠀⠀ you might possibly be the least helpful person in the world when it comes to making a hinge profile...gojo can attest to that.

contains; gojo satoru x fem reader, university (year 2) au, fluff, gojo's a dick, swearing, best friends to lovers, love triangle

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀pm or send ask to join/be removed from taglist,, ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀link to miniseries masterlist

"y'know, i'd appreciate it if you could help at least a little bit."

gojo can feel your hard glare targeting him, piercing into his skull like a red laser beam, yet still chooses to ignore you. he doesn't understand why you can't just finish unpacking later. you're kind of being a buzzkill. yes, he'd be a better friend if he continued to help you unpack your boxes and organize your cluttered dormitory; but he's got more important things to do. things that require his complete and utmost attention. things that are life or death on a college campus. things that will make or break his entire young adult experience...

...things like finishing his hinge profile!

"i promise— wait no. i pinky promise i'll put all of your shit away later, just tell me which photos to pick for this prompt, i'm stuck." he's begging and pleading for you to focus on him, which isn't unusual when dealing with a narcissist such as himself. c'mon. c'mon. gojo knows exactly how to win you over. it really isn't that hard. all he has to do is beg and whine a little, give you some puppy dog eyes, and you'll do whatever he says! there's no way he's actually going to put all of your clothes away; that'll take like...forever.

with an eye roll in response to the cheer of joy gojo lets out, you set your boxes to the side and lay beside him on the carpet. he can feel your nose tickling his neck as you lean close to see his screen, and he wonders why his heart skips a beat. eh, it's probably nothing.

"this is so dumb, satoru." you point to his screen, your finger directed at his favorite prompt so far.

don't hate me if i: have blue eyes

"okay, wait!" he flicks your forehead, laughing as you pout, and clicks on the 'add image' prompt. "it's like a thing now! girls hate guys with baby blues like mine!" being handsome is so hard nowadays.

if he asked anyone at jujutsu university who the biggest player on campus is, they'd name him off without blinking twice. while only being a freshman last year, gojo managed to become a household (or a dorm-hold?) name that'll be talked about for years after he graduates. there may be a possibility he's either flirted or made out with every girl in his graduating class, not including you, all in one school year. without the use of dating apps, he went on a total of eighty-seven first dates from august to june; albiet seeing a few girls more than a few times for some special alone time, if you get what he means; and he had the absolute time of his life and needs to recreate that thrill again.

"you don't need an app to get girls, you get plenty already."

ugh why do you always have to rain on his parade?

"obviously i don't need an app, but it's way more fun this way." he argues, "imagine if i hit a hundred first dates before may. i'd break last year's record."

"and why are you getting so butt-hurt about my dating life?" he's treading into dangerous territory. the two of you never talk about your romantic experiences, considering you never want to talk about them with him. "it's not my fault you had a total of...hm what was it? zero dates last year?"

"just find a fucking photo and get this over with."

yeah, your love life is off limits...

a chuckle rumbles from his throat as gojo continues scrolling through his camera roll, searching for a photo that screams 'boyfriend material'...or to be more specific 'one night stand material'. while he's searching for a photo that'll make girls want to sleep with him, he doesn't notice that his brightest smiles only appear in the photos with you. then again, he never notices you; and if he ever did, it's unlikely he'd date you anyways. you're his best friend. he doesn't want to ruin that. he can't ruin that, because then he'd have to imagine a life without you in it.

a particular picture stands out from the rest, and you choose to point it out. it's the two of you in your high school uniforms, standing side-by-side beneath the cherry blossoms after your third year graduation ceremony. his hair is slightly shorter and his height hadn't reached its full potential yet, but you look absolutely adorable— almost like a kitten that he's protecting from the no-good boys of the world (technically he belongs in that category, but that's besides the point).

"do you remember when we first met?" a soft hum is murmured in his ear and gojo finds the sound quite comforting.

he thinks for a moment, completely blanking as the memory escaped his mind, and takes a random guess. "middle school? english class?"

the look of disappointment on your face immediately tells him he's wrong.

"look it was a really long time ago, i know that at least." no amount of excuses will make up for his awful recollection, but he tries nonetheless. gojo satoru is a shitty friend. that's just how it is. you both know it and he tries his best to be better for you, however, he can't help the way he is. some boys are born to be boys. "i'm trying my best—"

"it's alright, just stop."

you're so upset.

"there are more important things to remember, really it's fine."

why are you so upset?

"i'm sorry," he mumbles. this feeling of guilt isn't familiar to gojo and he can't help but hate it. "i'll try to remember."

what is it that you were trying to reminisce about? he wants to know but he shouldn't pry any more, you're clearly done with the conversation and want to move on with a concentrated thinking face gracing your features. you look pretty. woah. you look really pretty. he's never thought that before. why hasn't he noticed before? suddenly, the thought of however many hinge girls want him isn't very appealing and he just wants to make you smile again. you're so pretty when you smile. his heart is beating ten times faster than usual and he's urging it to calm down, but it won't.

...maybe that's a good thing, though.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀pm or send ask to join/be removed from taglist,, ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀link to miniseries masterlist

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[my-mischief-managed]

When Munch was a boy... freedom was ... a potato. 🥔

It was you didn't get killed today. Freedom from hunger, from the rusty blade.

But to free himself, the man ate first so others could not. He killed before he was killed. He wanted nothing more, because only kings... had the freedom to want.

But now everywhere you look, you see kings.

Everything they want, they call their own, and if they cannot have it, they say that they are not free.

They even pretend their freedom should be free, that it has no cost, but the cost is always... death. Life for life. Me... or you.

🐯

[flymetosnarryland]

My Snarry WIPs' list.

I would like to share something. My Snarry WIPs' list, yup. Why? I always felt weird writing about myself and stuff I do, but I'm processing changes and thought I can share not only art, lol.

How many project are you working on? I'll dive into couple of mine:

Date with a Star - a Post-War romantic comedy. Harry is in love with Severus, Severus secretly loves Harry. Both are too scared to say what they feel to not lose their friendship. A friend in need asks Harry for help and this is where the wild ride with dumb dating TV-show starts. Especially because Harry don't know that the same friend-in-need blackmailed Severus to get him into the same show too. This is actually a second Snarry fic I ever started to write, inspired by dating TV-show from 1992. I remember that when the idea for this one hit me, I was laughing for a good hour (that TV-show was absolutely ridiculous). And I still feel a pinch of positive embarrassment when think about what's going on there. In fact this story made me want to learn how to translate my wiritngs into English. It's half written and translated too. I really have to finish second part.

Infraction - my first monster fic. My baby. Crime (serial killer), slow burn, Muggle AU featuring Marauders and Death Eaters, political sheananigans and Severus' old flame. I have entire story written out from beginning to the end. What's more... with an ending that allows me to dive into second book (I'm excited lika a child) including the initial idea for it, ahh. Every time I think about Infraction, I feel butterflies in my stomach and a tear comes to my eye, damn. However, the entire project requires a huge amount of work. And a few modifications that I finally have to do to complete the first stage. It's not simple, though. I regret a bit that I released the cover, prologue and first chapter. I was prematurely carried away by the joy of creation, but that's okay. Going to fix it all in time.

In the Moonlight - working title. Something I planned to write for last year's Snarry AUctoberfest, but the beast got bigger, lol. Crime (kidnapping), Muggle AU - my great weakness and, most importantly, inspired by the movie Bodyguard (the one with Whitney Huston). Much like Infraction, this fic is fully planned and scripted. I can't believe I managed to do it. I wrote 1/4 of the whole thing and even have the lyrics of original song that Harry dedicates to Severus, although I don't know anything about music at all (an elephant stepped on my ear).

In between - a drawing series. Harry and Severus in a cute/fluff version. Post-War and happy life, because that's what they deserve!

First time - Drama/Romance, Muggle AU (gosh, yeah, again!). This is a project I want to do 50/50 as a fic/comic. A few works and dirty sketches have already landed here. I have a little dream of writing something that includes e-mails/text messages. In general, a romance that started online. Aren't Harry and Severus purfect for this? (Plus doing art in colour for this project was a test I wanted to start before 3B.)

3B - a Vampire fic, yessss. Can you believe that once I said, I'll never ever write or do anything connected to vampires? Hehe, now I'm in the middle of it, fully commited and over the moon. A bit dark/angsty story with a bonus: illustrations. Crime (more like, cri-me a river, lol; I mean, again? Yup xD), Post-War, a few intrigues, even a SnarryWedding o_0 gosh. That is another thing I said: "No, that's not going to happen." I guess, I fell on my head since now I do everything I promised to myself not to. But it's fun. And bloody, mhaha. I also created my own Vampire Villains and I kinda fell in love with them. Going to sneak into this fic a bit of blood magic mechanics that I created for my fantasy book, too. The picture at the top is one version of the cover sketches ɷ◡ɷ

Adrenaline - working title. Post-War/Drama/Romance and slow burn, a bit of Hogwarts, a bit of Quidditch and for a change Severus will have to show that he wants something more. I mean, I always writing/thinking about Harry chasing Severus. So here the dynamic will change a little. Can't wait for it! The idea for this one was accidentaly born last week and I can't stop it anymore. The inspiration comes from the cover art for Witch Weekly that I did, lol. I had no idea that at the stage of brainstorming, it would turn into another monster. It supposed to be a short story, but, apparently, I'm not good at short stories and it's time to come to terms with it xD I won't cry either because I like Harry and Severus pairing up in different ways/AU's, hehe. And most importantly - creating all these things, even if they don't fully see the world outside my drawer, still gives me great joy!

[xxxninjaxxx23]

You brought the light I needed in my life

Part 1

Samantha Carpenter x GN Reader.

New York City has always been a bustling hotspot for restaurants, opportunities, and some “night activities.”

And yet Samantha Carpenter can’t shake this emptiness she feels everyday in her life.

(Sam’s Pov) It was a busy friday evening and I had just gotten off my shift at the diner. The Manager let me go home early with my regular pay as a reward for working hard.

Truth is. There’s a reason why I don’t take days off and constantly work.

I wrapped up my leftovers in a bag for dinner later and walk back to the apartment since the gym was closed today ‘that’s where I usually spend my time’.

New York being the big city it is, I had to bump through crowds, junkies and greeted some couples. When I got to my complex, some people were already shooting looks at me, one threw a paper ball at me.

‘Looks like our neighbors know I’m the daughter of a small town serial killer.’

After getting past the death glares, I enter my apartment and put my leftovers in the fridge. Then I pour a cup of whiskey, sitting down to collect my thoughts, not bothering to turn on the tv.

I hear the door open a half hour later “Sam! Im home” hearing that voice always brings a little smile to my face.

Tara sets her shopping bags down and sits on the couch next to me, turning on the tv. I felt a bit of joy knowing I’m giving Tara what she always wanted. A degree, a boyfriend, and freedom to live her life provided she be careful of the dangers.

I took a sip of my drink “So how was your date with Chad?”

Tara jumped in excitement “Amazing! We went to a nice restaurant that had an open mic. You should have seen Chad try to sing “All of me” he did it a little off key but reassured that it was a “song picked just for me.” Tomorrow we’re going to an arcade that just opened. Want to join us?”

I felt an ache in my chest and it wasn’t the whiskey “Thank you Tara….but I don’t want to impose. Especially since I’m letting you live your life freely.”

Damn. I didn’t do much to hid my emotions and Tara was quick to notice.

“Is everything ok?” She asked putting a hand on my shoulder. Normally, I hate being asked that but this is my sister ‘sigh’ “I guess….I guess I’m just lonely to tell you the truth.”

Tara was confused “Lonely? Aw don’t be silly, you have me and the twins.”

I sipped my drink once again “I mean you know….lonely.” Tara playfully slapped her forehead. “Ohhh I see. I mean, I can try to help you find a date.”

I smiled a bit. “That would be nice, I just hope I find one. It’s not that easy when you’re the daughter of the first Ghostface.” Tara nodded “If that worries you, I can take a break from Chad and spend some time with you.”

“But Tara, you love him.” My sister nodded “I do. But you’re my sister and I love you more. All you have to do is say the word.”

I sniffled heavily before wrapping my arms around Tara “Oof. How can a (Guy/Girl) not love a woman with big muscles?” I laughed a bit.

(1 month later)

(Tara’s pov) True to my word, I spent more time with Sam. Even though she assured me that it was ok with me bringing Chad to the apartment or going on dates with him.

Since Chad is still asleep from finishing that assignment, I’m eating breakfast with Mindy and Anika. They were surprised that I chose to eat at the place Sam works at.

“I think I know what i want.” I said as Mindy looked up from her menu “T. Did you choose this place because it’s that good?”

“Or did you want a free meal from your sister?” Anika finished, laughing.

I rolled my eyes “No….I’m going to pay for-“ I felt my pockets “Shit! I forgot my wallet!” Mindy shook her head “Didn’t you forget it the last time you went with my brother to that restaurant.”

I blushed from embarrassment “Y-yes but I gave him the money back when I got paid.”

Anika nodded “What you really need is one of those wallet chains so you never have to lose it again. Plus it would look hot on you.”

Mindy playfully smacked Anika’s arm as Sam came by to take our orders “Now, now. Don’t kill each other until AFTER you eat.” As we took our orders, I picked mine which was a bit pricey ‘Sorry Sam.’

“Umm big sis. You think you can spot me for this one?”

Sam rolled her eyes “Again? How many times do I have to tell you to stop forgetting your money?” I smiled playfully “Pleaseeee. I won’t forget next time and I will pay you back, I promise.”

(Sams pov) I shook my head, not wanting my sister to throw a tantrum or steal somebody else’s food “Fine. I’ll hold you to that.” I gathered up the menus and took the orders to the kitchen. After that, I decided to wipe down the counter since it was a slow morning.

I was finishing the display case until a new customer walked in. “Welcome to Crown Shy. Would you like

I looked up from the case and was at a loss for words when I set my eyes on the person that walked in.

(Sorry I had to. Lol)

Their (gothic/eccentric) attire was stunning enough to make a lot of heads turn. I shook my head, hiding my blush “ ‘Ahem’ Welcome to Crown Shy. Would you like a booth or a table?”

(He/She) requested a booth saying they have a friend meeting them here for a class assignment. My shoulders tensed as I dropped the menu on the floor, running to get new one “Sorry about that”

I took a quiet breath and awaited their order.

(Tara’s pov) Another waitress brought our food and we were in the middle of a feast until I spotted Sam making eyes at the new customer that just walked in. I tapped Mindy on the shoulder “Ooh! Direct hit Cupid.” Mindy whispered.

“I’ll say. I think this is the first time I’ve seen my sister as a drooling lovesick puppy.” I nearly laughed when she dropped the menu and went to snatch a new one off another table “Smooth move Casanova” Anika whispered.

After Sam took her potential lovers order and brought their food out, she stepped outside telling her boss she was taking her fifteen. “Looks like someone needs a little push Tar” Mindy said.

I nodded as I went outside to find Sam with a hand on her chest, trying to control her rapid breathing.

“Someone’s got a crushhhh. Someone’s got a crushhh” I said in a singing voice, handing Sam a water bottle from my bag.

Sam wasn’t amused and showed her blush “Look. Try to talk to them Sammy. This is your chance to finally get a (Boyfriend/Girlfriend)”

She took a sip from her water bottle “B-but what if they don’t like me? What if they find out who I really am and never talk to me again?” I gently squeezed her shoulder

“Sam, you won’t know if you don’t try. I’ll be right there to comfort you if anything happens. Just introduce yourself and ask if you can sit with them until their friend shows up, make some small talk my hot sis.”

(Sam’s pov) I shook my head, smiling “I’m not really that hot but I’ll still make small talk with them.” We both head back inside the diner, seeing that the new customer is already eating their food.

I check my watch “Ok still on my break, time to make my move” I whispered.

I walk over to their table “Hi. Um, do you mind if I sit with you? I’m currently on break and my coworkers are having a football debate back there.

The customer looked up and smiled “Sure. I could use the company, seeing my friend is running a bit late.”

I hid the excitement in my stomach and sat down. “I’m Y/N by the way Y/N L/N.” They said extending their hand “Samantha….Carpenter. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’ll say. It’s not often I see a pretty girl wanting to have lunch with me.”

I was flattered “So you think I’m pretty?” Now it was their turn to blush “Um s-sure? I mean I would really like to get to know you more.”

I felt my phone vibrate. I open it to see laughing emojis from Tara saying we are “Both hopeless with the small talk.” I shot a look at her, shaking my head.

I took a breath and engaged in a conversation like our favorite hobbies, movies, latest tv shows. I was amazed by how much we have in common unlike Ritchie who never liked almost all my hobbies. Sometimes I question why I got with him in the first place.

Anyways we talked a bit more along with me complementing their outfit, saying it “Makes them stand out and look more attractive.” I didn’t realize how long we were talking until I realized I was five minutes over my break.

I quickly jumped from the booth and back to my station in a flash but not before leaving my number on the receipt if they want to talk more.

(One shift later)

(Sam’s pov) This day was very slow and tiring. I was anxiously waiting for the time to fly by and luckily it did. But earlier, Tara didn’t help by eating loud and throwing trash on the floor. I swear my sister has the manners of a child. I rest my case when she let out a loud belch which ‘sigh’ everyone heard!

“Sorry! Excuse me!”

I cleaned the rest of the floors and whatever trash was on the tables as the last 30 mins approached. When it was time, I clocked out and said bye to my coworkers and boss.

Heading outside, I put my apron away and check my phone for any new messages. I got one from Tara who once again teased me that I was in a rush to see my new “lover.” I rolled my eyes and left that on read.

The next message was from….Oh Y/N and they asked if I wanted to watch a movie together. I responded back to it being a plan. We’ll watch a movie at my place and I’ll make the best dinner.

(Later)

(Tara’s pov) I sat on the couch waiting to go to the arcade. Chad really needs to stop staying up late and sleeping in late. It’s getting pretty hectic but I still end up dealing with it.

I check my phone “Hm, still got an hour left” I turn on the tv and snack on a few corn chips.

I got halfway through an episode of South Park until Sam came by with a hand vac, “Tara! I just cleaned here. Must you always be so messy.”

I scoffed “Looks like someone’s eager to keep the place clean for their new (Boyfriend/Girlfriend)”

Sam snatched the chips away from me “They’re not my lover. I just want spend time with a new friend, and that is making sure this place looks presentable.”

I nodded “Sure and I’ll be a millionaire one day. Look I get it. You want to make a first impression and that’s ok. No more lone wolf tonight Sam, it’s time for a new chapter, go get (him/her) tiger!”

(Sam’s pov) After cleaning Tara’s mess for the second time, I take a long needed shower and put on something simple. An hour later, the doorbell rings. “Y/N! Nice to see you again. It’s me uh Sam….from the diner” We both shared a hug before they went to the living room to pick out the movie.

Tara left for the arcade but not before ripping into me again “I swear you have no game sis. How did you even end up with Ritchie?” She whispered, laughing as she closed the door.

Damn it Tara! Why do you have to be such a gremlin? Though she’s not wrong, I really need to work on my pull game.

‘Just be yourself Sam, just be yourself.’

As I got the cooking utensils ready, I called from the kitchen island “So baby. Did you choose a good movie for us to watch?” I slapped my mouth

‘Of course! Leave it to Sam Carpenter to find a way to fuck a simple question up!’

Y/N smiled, laughing a bit “Hmm not yet. Maybe you should pick, baby.” They said, winking.

‘This is gonna be a long night…..good, I hope it never ends’

After Y/N selected the movie to watch, (he/she) joined me in the kitchen to help prepare the food.”

“Ok let’s make some of my famous pasta. Normally we charge $19.99 for this at the cafe.” Y/N was shocked “$20 for pasta?!” I nodded “It’s a family recipe, my um….father knew the right spices to use.”

Then we set the noodles and water to a boil. As it was cooking along with the sauce, we took the opportunity to take some silly pics together then post them. When the food was done, we set the plates and ate on the coffee table (Sam made sure it was clean after her sister put her bare feet on it recently. She really let Tara have it afterwards)

“I hope this isn’t a gory movie. I don’t want to lose my dinner.” Y/N shook their head “No this is more of an action movie. It’s called John wick.” I smiled “I don’t think I ever heard of that movie.”

A few hours into the movie, I was blown away by how ruthless this man was all over a car and…well I guess it makes sense with the dog.

(Y/N’s POV) After the movie was over and we cleaned up, I got my jacket and was about to head out seeing it was late. I said my byes but right as I was about to leave, I felt a hand on my arm “Stay with me….please?”

I smiled ‘How can I say no to that face?’ “Alright but um….I don’t have any sleepwear. I might have to sleep in my underwear if you don’t mind?”

I saw sweat pouring down from Sam’s forehead “N-No…I don’t mind at all.” I gave her a kiss on the forehead ‘probably shouldn’t have done that’ but she shrugged it off and led me to her room.

(Bedroom)

As Sam was in the bathroom, changing into her night clothes, I stripped down to my underwear. I put my clothes next to the bed on the floor. Few minutes later, Sam came back wearing said night clothes but she stood like a deer in headlights.

I was confused for a minute but then realized “Ah, you like what you see here? I said, showing off my body a bit.

Sam swallowed “Mmhm” was all she said before pulling me into bed with her.

Sam had a tv in her room so we watched a show just to fall asleep to but mostly talked a lot rather than watch the show or even drifting off to sleep.

I decide to try my luck “Snuggle me?” Sam was hesitant “Y-you want me to snuggle you?” That got me nervous, hoping I didn’t push things too quick besides the kiss of course. “Yes…but I understand if you don’t want to. I’m not here to make you uncomfortable.”

I felt some relief when she giggled “Come here.” She said extended her arms which I fell into perfectly. I felt butterflies in my stomach as she nestled next to me. “Sorry I was a little confused at first because no one I dated asked me to be the big spoon.”

I faced her a bit “Hm? Who wouldn’t want a woman with big biceps wrapped around them so safe?” Sam smiled “Probably because, they were jealous that I was more fit and muscular than them.”

I shook my head “I guess they forgot the definition of “Exercise” and “Workout” I said. “I do workouts myself but I been meaning to find a partner to go to the gym with.”

Sam rubbed my arms sounding a bit tired “I’d be happy to fill that role and go to the gym with you.”

I felt myself blush ‘Part of me really wants to kiss Sam for real this time but I don’t know if she wants a relationship now…or one with me. That might not be true, maybe just maybe I might have a chance at love again….I hope.’

I stayed awake for a bit hoping to ask Sam if she’s interested but I didn’t realize that sleep has taken her until I heard a snore from said girl. “Maybe tomorrow….yeah tomorrow’s ‘yawn’ a good day to tell her.” I felt my eyes get heavy, then fell asleep into Sam’s arms, holding me in place.

(Later on into the night when the pair were fully asleep, Tara came home and went to check on her sister. She had to stop herself from squealing at the sight that had emitted her eyes.

“This is definitely going on my page.” Tara said as she snapped a quick photo then left, closing the door.

“Goodnight Sam….Goodnight Y/N. I think you just brought the light my sister needed in her dull life.”

To be continued

Btw there’s the idea of the reader but the choice is still yours if these pictures don’t cut it

You got the gothic(eh maybe) or the elegant reader lol.

[spuffybot]

Crush is such a good episode. Like seriously…

1. The parallels between Dawn and Buffy are amazing. The way Dawns crush on Spike mirrors Buffy’s crush on Angel. Buffy was already a Slayer at Dawns age. By the time she met Angel she’d lost so much of her childhood. Falling in love with a 100+ year old vampire seems plausible. Dawn, not so much. We see her crush as amusing and cute but we know it’ll never happen. And not just because Spike is enamored with Buffy, but because Dawn gets to be a child. Dawns youth and innocence have been protected. It feels icky and wrong to think of her with this grown man. Buffy never had the luxury of being a child, of being protected.

2. The way Buffy genuinely has no idea Spike likes her. It’s so quintessentially Buffy. Her little “huh” when Dawn points it out is gold. Especially since this is AFTER Spike shows up at the Bronze just to “hang out”.

3. Spikes wardrobe. UGH. It’s perfect. The way he plays with lighter colors to show his commitment to the light. The way he puts his whole body into everything that he does. The way clothing is linked to identity for him. His entire look is crafted to express himself and he manipulates that expression to suit his needs and his feelings.

4. The dynamic between Spike / Dru / Buffy when he has them tied up in the basement. Honestly this is a top tier performance from Juliet Landau. Her comedic timing is on point. And James Marsters is giving it his all. He’s giving creepy stalker / deluded serial killer / “but I’m a nice guy” vibes and it is flawless.

5. Speaking of James’s performance, even though this is very much Spike at his most deluded and still mostly evil self, he gives us subtle glimpses at the true change that is to come. The way he softens with Dawn and Joyce. The genuine hurt on his face when he realizes Buffy has revoked his invitation. The way he immediately unchains Buffy and levels up at her side to fight the moment the danger to her becomes real. He never pushes it too far, you still read his crush as comical and absurd, you still know Spike is evil, but in the context of what is to come…these touches add so much depth.

6. “You were sleeping the sleep of the knocked unconscious” might be one of my most quoted lines in the entire series. I say this a lot because it’s just such a good line.

7. HARMONY. Ugh the way she comes in and shoots Spike and cat fights him. She never fails to make me laugh.

8. The moment where Buffy and Spike stand side by side, allies again, ready to take on Dru and Harmony if need be. It’s so perfect. This is their relationship at its core. From the end of season 2 to the end of season 7. Hate or love, friends or enemies, these two will stand together and fight.

9. Xander laughing about Spikes crush. This moment of lightness from Xander broke my heart a little bit. Buffy’s death breaks everyone but it steals Xanders joy and belief that everything will be ok. Season 5 Xander is still capable of seeing the funny in Spike loving Buffy. Season 6+ Xander can only see the danger.

I could go on and on but these are probably my top moments.

[rosaline-black]

well! in the spirit of being hungover, how about a fluffy hotch and reader where they're nursing their respective hangovers together after a night out with the team? i could see a debate occurring on whether or not pickle juice is an effective hangover cure.

Warnings: mentions of drinking!! Bau!reader since it’s my fave. Mentions of hangovers so maybe don’t read this if you are, I wrote this hungover and trust me it didn’t help. Also I reference rage against the machine since they’re my go to karaoke band. What can I say I love chaos.

The pounding in his head was almost as distracting as the foot digging into his… well somewhere he would rather it not be digging. Last night was impromptu to say the least. He’d been getting into more impromptu situations since he met you, and usually he loved it. Hotch had been more spontaneous over the last few years then he had been his whole life. But sometimes spontaneity feels great in the moment, but not the day after.

This was a prime example.

“Honey… your foot…”

Hotch attempted to reason but if there was one thing he didn’t want to do it was piss you off. Rossi had once made a joke about your messy hair the morning after a pretty wild night out with the team. You didn’t speak to Dave for two weeks after that. It took flowers and a $50 bottle of wine to win you back over and honestly, Hotch didn’t like the idea of not hearing your voice for two weeks (and forking out $50).

“What…”

Your head was still very much smooshed into the pillow so your speech had been rendered into more of a groan then anything considered English. Aaron loved when you were like this. Pouty and a little bit scary.

“Your foot it’s… you’re kind of kicking me…”

At any other moment you’d giggle at how unsure the usually authoritative guy beside you sounded, but the ache in almost every part of your body was overshadowing any joy you may of felt. Moving your foot away from Aaron’s uh crotch area… you turned to open your eyes and face him.

To your surprise he looked just as bad as you felt. Lipstick marks all over his cheeks, dark under eye circles and you could still smell the aroma of lingering tequila which instantaneously made your stomach flip. And not in the head over heels way you usually felt when looking at your partner. It was more like ‘if I smell u any longer I’m gonna throw up the entire bar I drank last night’.

“Please brush your teeth…”

Aarons eyes visibly widened at your blunt frankly kind of rude statement. But who was he to tell you no. And well, you were probably on to something since the inside of his mouth tasted like hand sanitiser.

“Good morning to you too dear…”

Once standing, the full effects of his hangover kicked in. The trademark nausea and dizziness washed over him like a tsunami. Ignoring the overwhelming inclination to empty the contents of his stomach, Aaron successfully brushed his teeth and clambered back into his bed, grabbing a hold of you like you were his life raft.

For about fifteen minutes the pair of you laid in each others arms, cringing at the moments that led to your current predicament. Hotch remembered singing god only knows by the beach boys to you and unfortunately he also remembered Emily’s phone filming the entire thing.

“Did I sing rage against the machine at karaoke last night?”

Hotch snorts at the memory of you screaming ‘fuck you I won’t do what you tell me’ to the tune of killing in the name. Instead of telling you that yes in fact that did happen, he simply kisses your forehead.

Your phone screen catches Hotch’s attention next. You’re typing away furiously, like whatever you were searching for was of utmost importance. In fact Hotch had seen you put less effort into catching serial killers, which is saying a lot since he’s convinced nobody throws themselves into their job like you do.

“Honey you’ll smash your screen if you tap it that hard…”

“Do you think pickle juice will fix this?”

Now Hotch has two options. He can laugh and hope you’re kidding… which seems less and less viable the more he senses the seriousness of your statement. He lands on a neutral statement.

“…fix what?”

Your eyes roll and you tap at your head and then gesture to your face. He’s sure you’re trying to say you look bad but honestly, Hotch can’t imagine a lifetime where you don’t look perfect.

“This pounding in my head… this ache that’s making me want to lay down and die…” You shove your phone in his face and hotch attempts to not flinch at the brightness of whatever click bait wellness page you’ve stumbled across “… it said pickle juice cures hangovers… something about the acidity…”

Aaron’s arm circles around your waist and pulls you to lay on top of his chest, carefully taking your phone in the process.

“Here’s a hangover cure idea… you order some fast food… I’ll go fetch us some litre bottles of water and we’ll spend the day in bed… deal?”

Hotch hopes you give up on the pickle juice idea. He’s pretty sure there’s none downstairs and the thought of going to any kind of grocery store feeling the way he does sounds similar to walking the gates of hell. He hears your answer in the restful sigh you exhale.

“Deal…”